


Surviving Expectations

by thefruitsofmysoul



Category: Avatar (TV), Avatar: The Last Airbender, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Hogwarts, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-02-28 08:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 113,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13267137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefruitsofmysoul/pseuds/thefruitsofmysoul
Summary: Draco Malfoy, the arrogant son of Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black and heir to the pureblooded Malfoy family, feels entitled to an easy life. Azula Ryland, crown princess of the Fire Nation, is the favored child of the revered Fire Lord Ozai, a privilege that leaves her with the impression that she was born lucky. Despite initially forming an alliance to further their own ambitions, Draco and Azula eventually find themselves drawn to one another, both understanding the burden of trying to meet their respective fathers' high expectations.





	1. Not So Humble Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing here except the plot, and made up characters. This story will begin with Draco and Azula receiving their Hogwarts acceptance letters, and end some time after the Battle of Hogwarts, with an epilogue following the central action. As that insinuates, it'll be a looooong journey, so I hope you'll stick with me throughout. Enjoy!

“Almost isn’t good enough, Princess Azula.”

Eleven-year-old Azula Ryland, the crown princess of the Fire Nation, gritted her teeth as sweat dripped down her brow. Her father, the esteemed Fire Lord Ozai, was teaching her the technique for producing lightning. Usually, when it came to firebending practice, Lo and Li, palace servants, were the ones who would assume the role of her tutors. However, with something as precarious as lightning generation, Ozai sought to give her his personal tutelage. She was hardly going to question her father’s rare charitable mood.

A hair had fallen into Azula’s face with her effort, which, to Ozai _and_ Azula, was a sign of imperfection…and imperfection led to weakness. Unlike most other children her age, mistakes weren’t acceptable for Azula. Mistakes were for commoners. Mistakes were for weak people.

Mistakes were for people like _Zuko_ , and that in itself was a terrible thought.

Taking a deep breath, Azula cleared her mind once more and gathered her chi from deep within. With the utmost concentration, she set her sights on a precariously placed target several yards from her, exhaling as she pointed her finger towards…

_Plop_

With the feeling of a foreign object falling on her head, Azula startled, her distracted state causing her to be launched backwards as the release of her chi resulted in an uncontrolled explosion. Never before had she been so distracted that her attempt at mastering a firebending technique backfired so drastically, but as the seemingly impossible happened to her, a chill ran up her spine. Her father would _not_ be pleased.

Chancing a glance at her father, Azula was surprised to see that he was staring at her with a neutral expression on his face. The situation could go one of two ways from there. For one, he could be luring her into a false sense of security before he reacted viciously, or – _the rarer option_ – he could be secretly pleased. As he strode towards her, Azula resisted the urge to stiffen, neutralizing her facial features as much as possible.

“Well done, my prodigy.” Her father murmured almost gently, smoothing down his daughter’s partially unkempt hair, “You’ve finally done it.”

Azula, though thoroughly confused, tried to avoid her inner sentiments from showing on her face. She remembered the last time she appeared uncertain before her father, and the end result hadn’t been good for her. Never in her life had she felt as pathetic as Zuko, and she definitely didn’t want a repeat of that incident.

“What exactly have…” She started before pausing. That sounded too unsure. She settled for the more confident response of, “Are you pleased Father?”

If Ozai had heard any sign of uncertainty in his daughter’s voice, he ignored it well. Instead, he appeared almost amused by her, a sly smirk donning his features. His amusement, like his neutrality, was a dangerous thing, and Azula could never be too certain whether or not she would be on the beneficial side.

“What have I always reminded you of since your brother’s disgraceful attempt at an Agni Kai?” Ozai questioned, staring pointedly at Azula. By his intense gaze, Azula knew that there was a right and a wrong answer to his query.

Pushing her nerves aside, Azula stood straighter. If anything, she absolutely loved hearing references to her brother’s failures, and loved outshining Zuko’s feeble accomplishments even more. With a contemplative look on her face, Azula recalled the tidbit of information that her father was seeking.

“Agni has blessed us, in his divine grace, with strength and power.” Azula recited dutifully, the innate pride at being part of such a rich family history causing the corners of her mouth to rise in a self-satisfied smirk, “It is our destiny to use our gifts to spread the Fire Nation’s message throughout the world.”

Ozai nodded, a placated expression on his face. Bending down, he picked up a small piece of paper off of the ground, one Azula hadn’t noticed before. With a small huff of annoyance, Azula realized that the paper must have been the object that assaulted her head, leading to her uncharacteristic firebending blunder. An indignant screech alerted Azula to a nearby owl, the likely source of her troubles.

As Ozai placed the paper into Azula’s hands, his message was clear:

_Read it_

If her father’s previous neutrality and amusement were anything to go by, Azula figured that the letter couldn’t contain anything disgraceful. If it had, her father wouldn’t have hesitated to punish her. Eyes narrowed, Azula began to scan the letter:

_Dear Ms. Ryland,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall,_

_Deputy Headmistress_

_Addendum: The staff at Hogwarts, myself included, is aware of your royal status and will do its best to accommodate whatever traditions you may need to observe. We do not, however, believe in preferential treatment, and we expect that you will treat your fellow witches and wizards as equals._

After reading the letter, Azula scoffed to herself. Who was this “McGonagall” person to tell her how she should treat people? Before she could dwell too much on it, her father placed a hand on her shoulders, the touch immediately sobering her.

“This is an opportunity for you to prove your allegiance to the Fire Nation.” Ozai declared proudly, his eyes narrowing slightly with his next words, “You will not disappoint me.”

Azula knew better than to think her father’s words to be anything other than commands. The last time she did…bad things happened. When her father’s palm started heating up against the fabric of her robes, Azula realized that her response had been a fraction too delayed, and her father was growing impatient.

“Yes Father.” Azula settled on obediently, her tone unwavering as she looked up to meet his golden gaze, so similar to her own, “I will not disappoint you.”

* * *

To say that Draco Malfoy was less than impressed when he received his Hogwarts letter was a supreme understatement. He was the heir of the prestigious Black and Malfoy families, through his mother and father respectively – the most renowned, feared, and respected pureblood families within the Wizarding World.

Needless to say, Draco expected nothing short of receiving his Hogwarts letter.

Thus, when the house-elf, Donny (or was it _Dobby?_ ) delivered said letter to him, Draco rolled his eyes in annoyance. He had more important things to do than entertain the elf, _or_ the Hogwarts letter. He was busy planning to talk his father into buying him a new broom, after his acquaintance (the girl preferred the term “friend”) Astoria Greengrass split his old one in half. How she did it, he’d never know, but he knew better than to ever grant her permission to use his things again.

Would that stop her from using them? Probably not, but it was the thought that counted.

“Master Malfoy.” The house-elf, it was Dobby after all, squeaked, extending the letter to Draco with a trembling hand, “For you sir.”

Draco hardly spared the house-elf a second glance, gesturing for him to place it on his bedside table with a nonchalant wave of his hands. Had he cared to look at the elf, he would have seen the crestfallen look on his face at his dismissive response.

“Go tell Mother.” Draco sneered, “She’ll be happy.”

As the house-elf bowed and scrambled out of the room, Draco sighed to himself, evidently displeased. Normal wizards would be excited about the prospect of going to Hogwarts, the school being famous for adventure and magical excellence. However, Draco was a _Malfoy_. He was better than anything Hogwarts could offer. His father, Lucius, had told him so, and he believed him wholeheartedly. The elder Malfoy had high hopes for Draco, and said hopes included going to a _proper_ Dark Arts school – like Durmstrang – instead of some mudblood coddling school like Hogwarts.

Draco was brought out of his musings by the sound of someone entering his room. A dark scowl on his face, Draco resolved to let whoever entered his room unannounced have a piece of his mind. No one entered his room without his permission. It was probably just that wretched house-elf again, wanting to alert him of his mother’s response.

“How dare…” Draco’s words fell short as he looked up, meeting his mother’s stern blue gaze, one of her brows raised, as if daring him to finish his statement.

His mother, Narcissa, married into the Malfoy family, being born of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. As such, despite spoiling her only child, she would not tolerate rudeness from him.

Draco wouldn’t admit that his mother was scary when upset.

“What was that Draco?” Narcissa prodded, arms crossed over her chest as her icy eyes pierced his soul, “How dare I _what_?”

Draco sat up straighter on the bed, shaking his head before remembering to use his words.

“Nothing Mother.”

After what seemed like an eternity, but was only a few seconds, Narcissa let a small smirk grace her features, allowing Draco to relax. When his mother smirked at him, he knew that she wasn’t truly upset with him, something he considered a very good thing.

A faint rustling noise alerted Draco to presence of the letter in her hand, and before he could ask what it was, Narcissa placed it on his lap, keeping a single finger on it as she stared down her son. By the firm set of his mother’s mouth, Draco knew he wasn’t going to like what she had to say.

“This is your Hogwarts acceptance letter.” Narcissa said slowly, her tone making Draco feel like a small, reprimanded child, “We will be going school shopping next week. Your father has already taken the day off from work to accompany us.”

Draco opened his mouth to argue before his mother raised another brow at him. If Draco were thinking straight, he would’ve kept quiet and obeyed, but against his better judgment, he scowled.

“Hogwarts is for mudbloods and blood traitors.” He said darkly, crossing his arms over his chest petulantly, “I’m going to Durmstrang.”

Narcissa stared at her son for a moment, and silence dawned on the pair. After a few seconds of quiet, Narcissa began smiling. When Draco stared at her incredulously, her smile evolved into a light chuckle that passed through her still closed lips. Upon realizing that Draco’s incredulous look wasn’t going anywhere, her chuckles turned into a fuller laugh and she sat on the bed with Draco.

“I’m sorry.” Narcissa quickly regained her composure and ran her fingers lovingly through her son’s hair, grinning at Draco’s sulky appearance, “For a moment, I thought you were under the impression that you had a choice.”

Draco’s cheeks reddened in embarrassment, and the tips of his ears began to feel heated. Leave it to his mother to undermine what little influence he had in his life.

“Just because you want me closer to you at home doesn’t mean that…” Draco started before Narcissa silenced him with a look. He was reminded quickly of why people generally didn’t argue with his mother as an icy feeling settled in his chest.

“You sound like your father.” Narcissa snapped, shocking Draco more than anything else she could’ve said. He was always under the impression that being like his father would be a good thing in Narcissa’s eyes, “You’re willing to throw away a perfectly good education because you’re afraid to consort with…”

“Ill-bred disgraces.” Draco spat, abruptly cutting off his mother.

Narcissa was quiet for a moment, but when Draco felt a stinging sensation on his arm, he knew his mother had hit him with a wordless stinging hex. Grumpily, he rubbed his arm in a vain attempt to soothe the irritation. His skin had turned a faint, blotchy red, welting in some places.

“You’ll have to get used to these kinds of people sooner or later Draco.” Narcissa continued, as if there had never been an interruption, “It’s better if you start now.”

As Draco pondered his mother’s words, Narcissa went on.

“Did you know that your father and I met at Hogwarts?” There was a wistful look in Narcissa’s eyes, one that instantly caught Draco’s attention. It was gone as soon as it had appeared and if Draco had more nerve, he would’ve questioned her about it, “We were both educated there, and _I_ turned out just fine.”

The “I” in the later part of Narcissa’s statement wasn’t lost on Draco. He frowned, meeting his mother’s gaze with his father’s eyes.

“What about Father?”

Narcissa paused, as if she were determining how deeply she wanted to go into her argument. Apparently, she resolved on not getting too deep, sighing as she reached forward to squeeze Draco’s hand. Draco squeezed back, not liking how somber his mother was becoming.

“I do not want you mixed up in the Dark Arts.” She said finally, her eyes indicating that there was still much she wasn’t relaying to him, “You know what it did to your Aunt Bellatrix, and I do not want the same for you. You are my only child, and if sending you to consort with mudbloods and blood traitors will give me peace of mind, then so be it.”

With that, Narcissa left the room as gracefully and silently as she had appeared, leaving Draco to think over her words. He loved his mother dearly, even more than he adored his father, and that was saying a lot, given that Draco wanted to be just like his father when he was older. Sighing to himself again, Draco knew that a decision had been made, though it was one his mother had already made for him.

He was going to Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I consider this story, in large part, a fun writing exercise and challenge, as I have never written a crossover prior to this one. Special thanks to my friend "MisguidedPlume" over on fanfiction.net for motivating me to keep writing this, and I hope you all enjoy this long journey!


	2. Crossing Paths

Diagon Alley was a strange place, especially when compared to the Fire Nation. As her father led her down the streets of the area, Azula couldn't help but feel in awe of her surroundings. There were owls flying about, children in dark robes jabbing sticks at one another, and the occasional spark in the air.

"Father." Azula began, mindful of her hand within her father's firm grasp, "Why are these children poking sticks at one another?"

Ozai's lips turned up, but that was the only sign of his amusement. His eyes, however, remained ever vigilant and distrusting.

"Those sticks are wands, Princess Azula." He explained, "Witches and wizards use them as guides for harnessing and controlling their magic. In time, I will show you how to be efficient without the use of one."

Azula nodded and went back to her silent observation of Diagon Alley. In her musing, she reminisced on the materials that the McGonagall person mentioned she'd need for this Hogwarts journey she'd be embarking on:

Three pairs of black work robes (Azula would much prefer her royal red and gold robes)

One black pointed hat for day wear (Azula didn't see anything wrong with the small crown she usually adorned her hair with.)

One pair of protective gloves that could be made from dragon hide or similar material (That  _had_ to be a mistake. There were no more dragons in existence. Her Uncle Iroh, the old  _fuddy duddy_ , had killed the last one.)

One black winter cloak with silver fastenings (She was a  _firebender_  for Agni's sake. She wasn't  _Zuko_. She could handle a little cold.)

Several books with titles that Azula couldn't care less about

A wand (Azula would have to implore her father to get her the best one.)

There were many other materials, of course, but Azula stopped paying attention after taking note of the wand. She wanted to be powerful, just like her father, so her wand was an immediate necessity.

"Father, may we get the wand first?" Azula questioned, trying not to let any excitement enter her tone. Her father didn't like it when she showed too much emotion. It would only make her appear infantile, a trait unbefitting of her stature, "I would like to learn to control my power as soon as possible."

Ozai cleared his throat and Azula knew that her request was going to be rejected. Anytime her father cleared his throat, he was going to do as he pleased, regardless of anyone else's desires.

"We're going to get you fitted for your robes." Ozai declared as he stopped them outside of a small shop.  _Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions_. "One must look the part before they act it."

Azula refrained from pouting and instead let out a small, inaudible sigh as she continued to follow her father. He had never led her astray before, so she doubted he'd start now.

"…leave you here." Her father was saying, and she cursed herself for not registering that her father had been speaking earlier, "You can get your robes fitted while I get the rest of your supplies.  _Then_  we'll get you your wand."

"Yes, Father." Azula murmured.

With a small nod, Ozai turned on his heel and went back in the direction they came from, disappearing into the crowd of people populating the streets.

As Ozai left her alone, Azula, reminding herself that she was better than everyone, pushed open the door to Madam Malkin's. Immediately, she caught sight of a small, quite chubby, smiling woman. She knew without speaking to her that she wouldn't like her. She was too much like her Uncle Iroh in appearance.

"Hogwarts, dear?" the woman – Madam Malkin – asked her kindly.

Azula raised her nose in the air and sniffed in disdain.

"Obviously."

If Madam Malkin was surprised or offended by her show of superiority, she didn't show it, and instead gestured for her to stand on top of a footstool. Incredulously, Azula followed instructions. She didn't have much of a choice, but she would definitely be complaining to her father about this.

Royalty didn't have their clothes fitted on footstools. This was disgraceful.

As the voices of two distinct boys reached her ears, Azula turned around to face them. The voices stopped and she was met with the emerald green and stony gray gazes of the two boys in question.

* * *

Draco wasn't thrilled to be standing on a stool in Madam Malkin's shop as he waited to get his robes fitted. Malkin dealt with common filth, and Draco did  _not_  want to associate with them. His father always emphasized the importance of knowing his worth, and Draco  _knew_  that he was worth more than half of Malkin's clientele. Yet, he took his mother's words to heart.

" _It's all a part of the Hogwarts experience, Draco." Narcissa had crooned to him, the calmness in her tone making Draco less indignant about the situation, "Trust me on this. One day, you'll look back and appreciate me for making you have this experience."_

Draco was too prideful to let his mother know that he  _did_ , in fact, appreciate her efforts already, but the most he would do to show said appreciation was not fight her on this whole Hogwarts thing anymore. That proved to be fairly difficult when he met a certain black haired, emerald eyed boy on the fateful day he went to sort out his school supplies.

"I just don't think they should let the other sort in – you know, those who weren't born into wizarding families." Draco drawled to the other boy, not bothering to ask the boy for his name, "They should keep it in the old wizarding families."

_Like mine_  is what Draco didn't say, but it was heavily implied.

"I forgot to ask." Draco continued, not noticing the look of disdain that the other boy was giving him, "What's your surname?"

Before the boy could respond, a young girl, around the same age as them, entered the shop alone. Her hair was done in the style of a top knot with long bangs, but what caught Draco's attention was the girl's eyes. Her eyes were a burnt gold, smoldering with a passion that Draco wouldn't even begin to understand for several years.

With a cadence that Draco begrudgingly accepted as graceful, the girl stepped onto a stool adjacent to his own, giving Madam Malkin a haughty look as she walked away to gather the material needed for her robes. Abruptly, the girl turned towards Draco and his reluctant companion. Silence dawned on the trio, and for whatever reason, Draco felt the need to break it.

"Hello." Draco greeted the girl, stretching his hand out in what he considered a gentlemanly gesture, "I'm…"

"Did I say you could talk to me?" The girl snapped harshly, cutting off the rest of Draco's sentence.

As Draco's hand recoiled, as if burned, the other boy began snickering behind his hand. The tips of Draco's ears began to redden, and he desperately hoped that his embarrassment wasn't showing on his face.

Draco leveled a glare at the other boy, who remained unfazed.

"She's not on your side mate." The other boy told him in a mockingly sympathetic tone, resting a hand on Draco's shoulder.

Draco roughly shoved the boy's hand off of his shoulder, getting ready to give him an earful before the girl rounded on him too.

"Do  _not_  speak about me." She hissed, her tone causing the other boy to raise his hands in defense, "Just stay on your stool and do  _not_  talk to me. You're not worthy of being in my presence."

With that, the girl huffed and crossed her arms, giving Madam Malkin an irritated glance as she returned with the girl's clothes. As Madam Malkin began her work on the girl, the girl shifted in annoyance.

"Stop pricking me woman." She ordered, frowning down at Madam Malkin. Oddly enough, Draco made the comparison to a princess staring down at her subjects, "I'm a princess, not a voodoo doll."

Draco had to give the old wench credit. Not once did she open her mouth to respond to the girl, no matter how berating she got. Once she was done with the girl, she moved on to finishing hemming the bottom of Draco's robes, murmuring gently to herself about bratty children.

"Princess Azula."

The voice came from a man standing by the door. He was tall, imposingly so, and it was evident that he was a very well-muscled man. His jet-black hair cascaded down his back, as well as on his face in the form of a goatee, and his eyes were the same burnt amber as the rude girl's.

_Princess_ Azula _?_

The girl, Azula it would seem, stepped off of the stool and strode up to the man, her back straighter than it had been before. As she reached the man, he put a hand on her shoulder, staring down at her. Draco felt a chill run down his spine. Even at a distance, the man's gaze was intense.

"We are going to get your wand now."

The man's sentence left no room for argument and Azula nodded immediately, following her father out of the store with one last glare at Draco and the other boy.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Draco stole a glance at his green-eyed temporary companion, only to find him staring right back.

"That girl's crazy." The boy said in disbelief, shaking his head.

Draco nodded in agreeance. Despite the boys not being friends in the slightest, Draco could agree with him. Though the girl may be crazy, she appeared to be on a high horse, and if she was truly a  _princess_ , that could be a very good connection for him to make.

Father would be proud indeed.

From that point on, Draco vowed that he would get to know the golden-eyed princess, even if it meant sacrificing his own pride in the process. After all, as Father always said:

" _Having connections to the right people is the easiest way to establish yourself in this world."_

* * *

Azula would never admit to being giddy about anything, much less about getting a wand. As far as Azula was concerned, she was already a master at harnessing her own magic – her firebending. Nevertheless, she was eager to start practicing this new form of magic.

As she entered a shop –  _Ollivanders_  – with her father, she immediately took stock of the small shop. Several boxes were stacked upon one another, and there was only a tiny stool for waiting customers to sit upon. Azula did not dare to sit, not wanting her father to find any reason to deem her lazy and unworthy.

"Good afternoon, Lord Ozai." In the silence, a man with pale, silvery eyes had addressed her father, his eyes flickering in eagerness at the prospect of a new customer, "How is Prince Iroh?"

Her father's jaw clenched and Azula felt herself stiffen in response. Whenever her father's jaw clenched, he got angry very quickly, and she didn't want to be around to face the aftermath of his anger.

To her immense surprise, her father soon began to relax, clasping his hands behind him as he stated simply, "He's alive, Ollivander."

If this Ollivander guy was taken aback by her father's clipped tone, he didn't show it. Instead, he turned his gaze to Azula.

"You must be Princess Azula." His tone was warm, almost fond as he continued, "I haven't had a member of the Firinian Royal Family since your brother Zuko was here, and Prince Iroh before him."

Azula turned to her father in surprise. She had assumed that since he was so well versed in all things magical, he had gotten a wand from this shop as well. Perhaps, he had gotten his wand from elsewhere?

She knew better than to question her father in public.

Masking her thoughts, Azula stared at Ollivander haughtily, refusing to acknowledge anything he had said about Zuko or Uncle Fuddy Duddy.

"I'm here for my wand." Azula said primly, her nose in the air as she scowled at Ollivander.

Ollivander nodded his head immediately and began rummaging through one of the boxes. To Azula, the sound was like logs rubbing against one another, and she didn't like it. Soon enough, Ollivander held up a stick –  _a wand_ , Azula corrected herself – and held it out for her to take.

"Try it out." Ollivander insisted, beckoning for her to stretch out her arm, "Made from a core of phoenix feather. Nice and supple. Just raise your arm and bring it down. Envision a target you want to strike."

Thinking of Zuko, Azula brought her arm down savagely, expecting something grandiose to occur.

_Nothing_

"Hmm." Ollivander murmured to himself, taking the wand from Azula and searching for another one, "Not to worry. The wand chooses the wizard, not the other way around."

"Why?" Azula demanded. She had noticed her father's intense stare and felt foolish. Surely, the wand should've worked for her. She wasn't  _broken_.

Ollivander hummed in response, giving her another wand to try.

"No one knows for sure." He answered shortly, "Now try this one. Has a core of dragon heartstring. Same as your brother."

Azula felt a surge of annoyance at the mention of her brother, and brought her hand down, clutching the wand tightly.

_Nothing_

Her cheeks reddened in a mixture of anger and embarrassment. Even  _Zuko_  had managed to get this specific wand to work, so why couldn't  _she_?

"Tricky customer." Ollivander said to himself, looking for a third wand to give Azula to try, "I've had plenty of those before."

Azula risked a glance at her father and wished she didn't. His amber eyes were narrowed, flashing dangerously. Her failures were wearing on her father's patience, and she desperately hoped that the next wand Ollivander procured would work for her.

"Aha!" Ollivander exclaimed suddenly, handing yet another wand to Azula, "10 ½ inches, unicorn hair, blackthorn. Made for a warrior. I think this one should suit you nicely."

Taking a steadying breath, Azula held the wand tightly in her arm. Slowly, trying to prolong Ozai's impending rage, Azula jabbed her wand into the air, praying to Agni that this would go right.

Red sparks, coupled with gold, green, and silver ones, shot into the air. They raced around for a short while before coming together, exploding in a final dramatic display of fireworks. At her father's pleased expression, Azula finally relaxed.

"Unicorn hair tends to have difficulty with the Dark Arts." Ollivander said pointedly, staring directly at Ozai before turning back to Azula, "Shouldn't be a problem for you, I'm sure. Many people with wands that have unicorn hair as a core have underwent great changes in character. The wand will be your greatest support during these times."

Azula rolled her eyes. She wouldn't be changing any time soon. She was a  _prodigy_. A  _leader_. Her father's  _favorite_.

"She's fine the way she is, Ollivander." Ozai snapped, handing over seven gold bars to him, "Seven galleons for your work. Azula, we're leaving  _now_."

Without hesitation, Azula followed her father out of the shop, her gaze meeting Ollivander's pale one in the process. Still, there was one question on her mind.

"Father." Azula started carefully, "Ollivander said that before Zuko, the last one in the family to seek a wand from him was Uncle Iroh."

Ozai said nothing, but his jaw clenched tightly. Risking her father's ire in the face of his silence, Azula continued.

"Where did  _you_  get your wand from, if not Ollivander's?"

At Ozai's harsh glare, Azula knew to stop talking. She figured that her line of inquiry had upset her father, but this time, she didn't know what she did wrong.

"That is none of your concern, Princess Azula." Ozai said shortly, his tone an eerie calm, "It would do you well to remember that."

Needless to say, Azula was silent the rest of the way back to the Fire Nation.


	3. Goodbyes and Hellos

“Are you ready to leave, Azula?” As she finally managed to get the top of her suitcase closed, Azula breathed a sigh of relief, vaguely registering her father’s words.

Though the words were posed as a question, Azula knew that her father expected her answer to be a firm _yes_. She always had to be ready by the time he was ready to leave. There was no alternative with him.

“Yes, Father.” Azula nodded to emphasize her answer. Briefly, she glanced around her spacious living quarters for what would be the last time for a few months. She relished in the red and gold Firinian colors; the large, impossibly soft mattress; her collection of military and history novels. She could only hope that Hogwarts would provide as much comfort as the Fire Nation palace did.

Pleased with her answer, Ozai stepped a little closer to her. At his proximity, Azula was able to see that he was holding a scroll. It was one she recognized as containing a firebending technique she had long mastered. Ozai looked down at his left wrist, observing the time on his brand-name wristwatch. He nodded briefly to himself before looking at Azula once more.

“Hold onto your luggage.” Azula didn’t question her father, immediately taking hold of her belongings.

As Ozai moved to grip one of her shoulders tightly, a feeling of panic engulfed her. Before she could dwell on the feeling for too long, she felt a strong tug at her navel, the prelude to her world being spun dizzyingly before her eyes. Azula shut her eyes tightly in an effort to combat the nausea that was quickly overwhelming her senses, being grounded only by the fact that she could still feel her father’s firm grasp.

“Open your eyes.” There was her father’s command again, and Azula obeyed without hesitation.

Azula stumbled a bit before righting herself, not wanting to risk her father scolding her for improper posture. As her eyes regained focused, she was stunned to see a bustling train platform of sorts, an assortment of people and animals alike shuffling around. Next to the platform was the largest train she had ever seen, one vastly surpassing the locomotives she had come across during a brief trip to the Earth Kingdom with her father the previous summer.

“I had an enchantment placed on this scroll to turn it into a portkey.” Ozai made no move to discuss the nauseating feeling that the _portkey_ left Azula with, choosing only to mechanically explain how they arrived at their current location.

 _Business as usual with him_.

Unsurprisingly, Ozai left it to Azula’s imagination what the proper definition of a portkey was. A vague memory came to her of her Uncle Iroh, disappearing and appearing at will to entertain her and Zuko as young children. She wondered why her father didn’t simply use that method of traveling, immediately chastising herself for her line of thinking. If her father didn’t deem it pertinent to mention that tidbit of information, who was she to question it?

Azula’s focus was once again drawn to her father as he bent down to her level, placing both of his hands on Azula’s shoulder, staring deeply into her eyes. With all the calmness and aloofness she could muster, Azula stared back.

“You _will not_ fail me.” Ozai murmured quietly, as to avoid potential interlopers from overhearing their conversation, “Is that understood?”

“Yes, Father.” Azula said quietly.

Satisfied with her answer, Ozai let go of her shoulders, placing the firebending scroll that got them there in the first place in her hands. Azula stared at it, then her father, questioningly. In the scroll was the technique for fire daggers. Why was he giving her the scroll for something she had already mastered?

“Your form isn’t good enough.” Ozai frowned, as if reading Azula’s mind, “I expect you to have it mastered by the next time I see you.”

Azula opened her mouth to protest, to say _anything_ , but before she could even utter so much as a syllable, her father disappeared, leaving her alone in the middle of a crowded, unfamiliar platform.

* * *

“It will do you well to remember to associate with the right kind of wizards, Draco.” Lucius Malfoy drawled to Draco, having stepped through the brick wall to Platform 9 ¾ shortly after his wife and son, “I won’t accept any less from you.”

“Of course not.” Draco agreed haughtily, “I _will_ be in Slytherin, obviously, and I’ll be sure to avoid blood traitors.”

The corners of Lucius’s mouth lifted in a reassured smirk. He patted Draco on the shoulder once, firmly, displaying his pride for him. Taking a step back, Lucius pursed his lips tightly. He glanced briefly at Narcissa, who nodded curtly.

“I’ll be late for work if I stay any longer.” Lucius leaned over to kiss Narcissa obligatorily, a gesture which the latter said nothing to. The elder Malfoy turned to Draco, eyes staring at him appraisingly before nodding to himself, “I’ll see you for Christmas, Draco.”

With that, Lucius made his trek to the solid brick wall that served as the barrier between a muggle train station and the Hogwarts Express platform. Draco tried not to show his disappointment at the fact that his father wouldn’t be properly seeing him off. A light touch against his cheek brought him back to the present; his mother was gently caressing his cheek to offer him some reassurance.

“I’m sure you’ll have a fantastic year, my love.” Narcissa murmured, offering Draco the smile that she reserved for only him. Draco, unable to help it, returned his mother’s smile, “I have faith that you’ll make the right choices, and I’ll love you regardless.”

Though Draco was certain he would be in Slytherin, just as most of his family had been, it was still calming to know that his mother’s love for him was unconditional. His mother stared at him quietly for a moment, a contemplative look on her features.

“Yes,” Narcissa nodded to herself, only half talking to Draco, “You’ll have a very interesting year indeed.”

Draco couldn’t understand why his mother had suddenly grown pensive, but these thoughts were interrupted by the shrill warning shriek of the Hogwarts express. It was almost time for the train to leave. Risking another glance at his mother, Draco was relieved to see his mother grinning at him once more.

“I’ll be sure to send you lots of treats.” Narcissa informed him, waving him off in the direction of the train, “Now go on before you miss your train.”

Draco couldn’t get rid of the feeling that his mother knew something he didn’t, but instead of dwelling on it, he leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.

“I’ll remember to write you every week.” Draco promised, giving his mother a last smile before boarding the Hogwarts Express with his luggage.

With a wave to his mother, a gesture that she returned, Draco set off to find Crabbe and Goyle, certain that they would stave off any boredom that the long train ride to Hogwarts would bring.

* * *

Draco didn’t take lightly to being rebuffed by the “Boy-Who-Lived” – Harry Potter. It turned out that the green-eyed boy he had met several days ago at Madam Malkin’s was _the_ Harry Potter. Being the gracious boy he was, Draco offered him his friendship, but the Potter boy rejected him in favor of Ron “hand-me-down” Weasley. He remembered clearly the moment that solidified his enmity with Harry Potter.

“You’ll want to be careful not to associate with the wrong sort of wizards.” Draco informed Harry. He had already properly introduced himself and his… _friends_ , Crabbe and Goyle, yet Harry didn’t seem too impressed, “I come from the good sort, so I can help you in that regard.”

As Draco extended his hand out to Harry, his own rare gesture of friendship, Harry didn’t accept it. Instead, he gave him a dirty look.

“I can weed out the bad ones for myself.” Harry said coldly, “I don’t need your help Malfoy.”

With those few words, whatever relationship the two of them had built over their agreeance that the girl in Madam Malkin’s – _Azula_ – was strange was immediately decimated. Draco noticed Crabbe and Goyle looking to him, seeking guidance. He refrained from rolling his eyes. It would appear that those two really couldn’t do anything on their own.

“Come on Crabbe, Goyle.” Draco sneered, glaring harshly at both Harry and Ron as he began to walk out of the compartment, “Let’s find people _worthy_ of being in my presence.”

Without waiting for Crabbe’s or Goyle’s response, Draco left the compartment. Lackeys that they were, Crabbe and Goyle followed suit.

The next compartment that the three found themselves in was mostly empty, only containing one person. As if said person sensed their arrival, the person looked up from their window seat.

_Azula_

With a beckoning motion of his hand, Draco gestured for Crabbe and Goyle to follow him as he took the window seat across from Azula. Crabbe and Goyle hovered awkwardly around the two for all of ten seconds before choosing to sit in a double seat a few feet away from Draco and Azula. Though Azula gave them all withering looks, she said nothing.

“We may have gotten off to a bad start.” Draco started smoothly, giving Azula his best confident grin, “I’m Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.”

There was silence between the two of them for a long while as Azula observed Draco. Her amber eyes bore into his gray ones unrelentingly, hardly daring to blink at all. Finally, Azula gave a long sigh.

“Azula _Ryland_.” Azula emphasized her last name, raising one of her eyebrows pointedly, “I’m certain you’ve heard of my family.”

Draco pondered to himself for a while before it clicked for him. The Rylands, although not from Wizarding Britain, were fairly influential within the sphere of the whole Wizarding World. In addition to being renowned for their use of both dark and light magic, they were the ruling family in the Fire Nation, one of the richest nations in the world.

The idea of Azula being called _Princess_ Azula by her father suddenly made a lot more sense to Draco.

“Aren’t you some kinda princess or something?” Goyle asked her stupidly, “One of them pureblood royal fellas?”

Draco, in respect for his own pureblood stature, refrained from face-palming. He questioned, for the thousandth time since meeting them, why he was friends with Crabbe and Goyle. Leave it to Goyle to have the potential to offend one of the _last_ people Draco wanted to offend.

If Azula was annoyed, the only indication was the slight downturn of her lips. Otherwise, she remained calm and collected.

“I am the _Crown Princess_ of the Fire Nation.” Azula stated coolly, the flash in her golden eyes causing Crabbe to shudder slightly, “I do not tolerate disrespect.”

As Goyle opened his mouth once more, potentially to embarrass himself further, Crabbe, in a rare moment of intelligence, slapped a hand over his mouth, instantly hushing him.

Pleased, Draco turned his gaze back to Azula, only to find that she was already staring at him.

“I hope we can have a fresh start.” Draco continued, being sure to hold Azula’s fierce gaze. After all, his father always told him that one of the fastest ways to ensure that a person would respect him was by maintaining proper eye contact with them, “I apologize if you found my presence at Madam Malkin’s to be…a _nuisance_ to you, but I am certain that given the chance, we can make very good allies to one another.”

Azula pursed her lips and regarded Draco silently. She slowly drummed her fingers on the table in front of her, appearing to be keeping to a particular rhythm. Eventually, she met his gaze once more and smirked haughtily.

“I generally don’t make exceptions for those who intend to use me to further themselves.” Azula stated casually. Draco’s ears reddened in embarrassment. He hadn’t expected that she’d catch onto his ruse so quickly, “However, you can be of great use to me. Do _not_ make me regret this.”

Azula extended a hand towards Draco and eagerly, though he hoped his excitement didn’t show too much on his face, Draco shook her hand. He understood that their alliance would be on Azula’s terms, _for now_ , but Draco couldn’t help but be proud of himself. If this went well, the Malfoys would have even greater influence within the Wizarding World, and mudbloods would certainly be some of the first to feel the power shift.

Father would be proud.

As he and Azula exchanged pleasantries, Draco was glad that he had finally found a potential friend who would be on his intellectual level. Granted, his close acquaintance, Astoria Greengrass, would beg to differ, but Draco was referring to people of his _own age_. At ten years old, Astoria Greengrass was a year younger than Draco. She had an older sister – Daphne – who would be starting Hogwarts with Draco, but the elder Greengrass daughter was always closer with the likes of Blaise Zabini. Astoria, however, was ever loyal to Draco, a fact that Draco would never admit he appreciated.

“What about you?” Azula was asking him, leaning forward slightly in her seat, “Leave anyone important behind?”

He registered in the back of his mind that they were conversing about their social circles. Azula had divulged the fact that she had two close friends back in the Fire Nation – Mai and Ty Lee – who were not, in fact, witches. Despite this, Azula maintained that they were loyal friends to have, almost of as high a rank as her in terms of nobility. Though Draco’s upbringing would have him sneer at the thought of having _muggle_ friends, the younger, more boyish side of Draco found himself intrigued. It must’ve been nice to have more than one person deemed worthy enough of a friendship.

“Her name is Astoria.” Draco found himself saying, “Astoria Greengrass. She’s a pureblood, of course, and will be starting at Hogwarts next year. She’s a loyal person to have in your corner.”

Azula’s lips tugged upwards for whatever reason and Draco deduced that she was amused. Regardless, he got the feeling that whatever she was going to say next had nothing to do with their previous conversation.

“Any siblings?” Draco asked hastily. He didn’t want to give Azula the opportunity to come up with something that could potentially embarrass him.

No matter how hard Draco tried, he couldn’t gauge the look on Azula’s face after he asked his question. He didn’t know whether to call the emotion angry, indifferent, or conflicted. For this reason, he chose to push it to the back of his mind, instead reminding himself that Azula was the complicated sort of person.

Before Azula could even answer Draco’s question, three more people entered their compartment. The first was a young girl, around his age, with unkempt, bushy hair, and rather large teeth. The second was an older, tall, and lanky boy, with a scar over his left eye, and a determined look in his eyes. The last person was a smaller, chubbier boy, half hiding between his two companions with a tentative look on his face.

“We’re looking for a toad named Trevor.” The bushy haired girl said strongly. Her tone was demanding, and Draco was certain that he wouldn’t like her, “He shouldn’t be that hard to find. It’s statistically proven that the number of students who carry toads to Hogwarts is far overshadowed by those who carry owls or cats.”

Draco scowled at the girl, immediately disliking her tone. Who was she to barge into his compartment, implying that they help her look for a bloody toad?

“There is no toad here.” Draco sneered, “Leave, _now_.”

The girl looked affronted, seemingly opening her mouth to refute Draco’s words before the chubby boy tugged on her robes desperately.

“It’s fine Hermione.” He insisted, his eyes widened in slight fear, “We shouldn’t mess with him. He’s a _Malfoy_.”

The girl – Hermione – scoffed indignantly.

“Never heard of them.” She frowned, “That shouldn’t matter Neville. We came here to find your toad, not to leave empty-handed.”

Draco bristled internally. This girl had to be a mudblood. _Everyone_ in the Wizarding World knew the prestige of the house of Malfoy.

He turned to Azula, curious to see her reaction to the situation. It was then that he realized that the scarred boy had yet to speak a single word. Instead, he was locked in fierce eye-contact with Azula. It suddenly dawned on him that the boy’s eyes were the same shade of gold as Azula’s. Azula tilted her head upwards and scowled at the boy, the latter returning the same look to Azula.

“Zuko.” Hermione addressed the scarred boy, “Do you know her?”

For the longest while, scar boy – _Zuko_ – said nothing, maintaining his gaze on Azula. Eventually, he gave up whatever battle they were engaged in and sighed, turning to Hermione.

“It’s not worth searching here.” Zuko said roughly, his eyebrows lowering into a frown, “I’ll help you look elsewhere.”

With that, Zuko left the compartment, followed closely by Hermione and Neville. Draco immediately turned to Azula.

“How do you know him?”

That was certainly a better question to ask her than asking if she knew Zuko. From their intense stares, it was evident that they knew each other. From where, Draco was unsure.

Azula rolled her eyes and chewed on a piece of candy she had stolen from Crabbe. She didn’t answer him for a few seconds before she met his gaze once more, eyes impassioned.

“He’s _nothing_.” Azula said darkly, her tone an eerie calm.

She stopped talking abruptly and looked out of the window, saying no more for the remainder of the train ride.

As the two of them, plus Crabbe and Goyle, exited the train twenty minutes later, Draco heard Hagrid’s voice, beckoning the first years to follow him.

“Firs’ years! Firs’ years over here!” Hagrid bellowed, his voice booming as the majority of first years scrambled to heed his directions, “Four to a boat!”

Leisurely, Draco walked over to one of the boats and sat in it, raising his hand to help Azula into it. Predictably, Azula refused his hand and got in on her own, choosing to sit next to him. Crabbe clambered into the boat next, followed by Goyle, whose clumsiness nearly made the boat turn over.

“Be careful you idiot!” Azula hissed, shifting her weight to one side to steady the boat, “If this boat tips over, I’m letting you drown first!”

Draco snickered to himself at the abashed look on Goyle’s face as the boats started to move. As the boats moved, he took in the scenery around him. The lake, admittedly, was beautiful, clad with elegant plant life. Beyond the lake was Hogwarts in all of its glory, standing largely and proudly in the distance. He heard Azula hum to herself as she, too, took in her surroundings.

Before Draco knew it, he and the rest of the first years had been called to stand in line to wait for the sorting to begin. They were alphabetized, and as a result, he was separated from Azula, Crabbe, and Goyle. While waiting, Draco ignored this year’s sorting song, as his other had sung countless sorting songs from previous years to him as a younger child.

With the sorting of “Abbott, Hannah” into Hufflepuff, the year had officially begun. He drowned out all of the sortings until his turn had finally come. He had confidence that though the boys were daft, Crabbe and Goyle were at least decent enough to get into Slytherin.

“Malfoy, Draco.”

With an arrogant smirk on his face, Draco swaggered up to the stool and sat down, waiting impatiently for the hat to descend upon his head. The hat had barely touched his head before it announced the decision.

“Slytherin!”

As Draco walked over to the cheering Slytherin table, he knew he had done his parents proud. He had effortlessly managed to continue their tradition of ending up in Slytherin.

When he sat down, he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up, meeting the arrogant gaze of Marcus Flint, a 6th year Slytherin.

“Well done Draco.” Flint grinned, a glint of approval in his cold, black eyes, “You’ve done your family good. Welcome to Slytherin.”

Draco returned the arrogant stare with one of his own. He didn’t need Flint to affirm what he already knew. Instead of responding verbally, Draco gave him a small nod, returning his gaze to the sorting ceremony.

He stifled a snort as Potter got sorted into Gryffindor. It shouldn’t have surprised Draco, given how the boy had the idiotic tendency of disagreeing with him, but part of Draco wished that there could’ve been a friendship built between him and Potter.

Nevertheless, Draco vowed that he wouldn’t let this slight go unanswered. Potter had made an enemy of him, and that was something he wouldn’t be forgetting anytime soon.

“Ryland, Azula.”

The sound of short gasps echoed throughout the Great Hall as Azula confidently strode up to the stool. Draco supposed that the people around him were aware of Azula’s royal status and instead of taking it in stride, they decided to gasp and whisper like simpletons.

As she sat on the stool and waited for the hat to be placed on her head, she appeared to be raising an eyebrow at someone. Draco followed her stare and saw the older boy from before – _Zuko_. Zuko’s gaze was intense as he stared back at her, his eyes narrowed slightly. In response, Azula let out a tiny smirk before the hat was placed near her head. The hat barely touched her head, if at all, before it let out a loud bellow of “Slytherin.”

Nonchalantly, Azula walked over to the Slytherin table, amidst the cheers of the Slytherins and slight groans of the other houses. Perhaps, they had been hoping that she would grace one of them. Calmly, she sat down next to Draco.

“That wasn’t too hard.” She murmured softly, crossing her arms over her chest, “I don’t see why so many of our peers were scared.”

Draco shrugged.

“They haven’t been primed the proper way.” Draco insisted to her, his lips pursing in disdain, “They’re not confident enough that Slytherin is the only house worth coming to Hogwarts for.”

Azula nodded her head in contemplation. Before she could say anything, however, a shadow loomed over the two of them. As they both looked up, Draco realized that Zuko had been the cause of the shadow. Azula sighed and made to turn away before Zuko placed a firm hand on her shoulder, preventing her from turning all the way. She gave him a dark look, but that didn’t deter him.

“What’re you doing here?” Zuko asked Azula sharply, his tone sounding even more annoyed as he spoke through clenched teeth.

Azula smirked wickedly at Zuko, placing her hand on top of Zuko’s hand, which was still resting on top of her shoulder. Zuko swiftly removed his hand, recoiling as if burned. When Draco got a glimpse at Zuko’s hand, it appeared to be fairly red, almost as if he had put his hand extremely close to a blazing fire for far too long.

“Isn’t it obvious yet?” Azula queried, her eyes giving off the sense that she was very amused, “Being better than you, Zuzu.”

At hearing the nickname, Draco snickered as Zuko flushed, whether in embarrassment or anger, Draco didn’t know. If he had any doubt that the two of them knew each other now, the ridiculous nickname was a dead giveaway.

“Is there a problem here?” came the voice of one of the Weasley twins, his arms firmly crossed over his chest, his sentiment being finished by his twin, who said, “Can’t start drama at the beginning of the year without _us_ Zuko. That’s just insulting.”

Zuko looked back and forth between Azula and the twins, his gaze finally settling on Azula. If looks could burn, Draco had a feeling Azula would be burned a thousand times over.

“Get lost scar face.” Draco sneered, becoming annoyed at the presence of the elder, third year Gryffindors, “You’re sullying this table with your face.”

Granted, that wasn’t the most graceful thing Draco could’ve said, but it was worth it to see the proud smirk that donned Azula’s face. He figured that impressing her would be a very good thing for him.

“You heard the boy, Zuzu.” Azula said smugly, waving arrogantly with a flick of her face as she pointed towards the Gryffindor table, “The reject table is over there.”

With a scowl at Draco and an even harsher glare at Azula, Zuko stormed off, followed by the Weasley twins.

“What was that about?” Draco asked Azula. This was the second time they had come in contact with the scarred boy, and something told Draco that there was more of a backstory to Zuko’s relationship with Azula than either of them would let on.

Azula rolled her eyes and dug into the food that had suddenly appeared on the table. As she took a sip of her pumpkin juice, sighing in contentment, she turned back to face Draco.

“He doesn’t know when to give up.” Azula said simply, her gaze being drawn over to the direction in which Zuko had retreated to, “He can’t accept that I’ve always been better than him.”

With a nonchalant shrug, Draco began eating as well. If the boy wasn’t important to Azula, then he wouldn’t be important to Draco either.

* * *

As Percy Weasley led the Gryffindors to Gryffindor tower, Zuko stayed away from the crowd, being flanked by the Weasley twins, Fred and George, on each side. His mind kept wandering back to his encounters with Azula, no matter how hard he tried to forget about them.

_What was **she** doing there?_

“You alright, mate?” Fred asked him, a touch of concern in his voice as he put an arm around Zuko’s shoulders.

“We can’t have the third member of our gang in a rut.” George finished, nudging Zuko playfully in his side, “What’s going on? Is it that girl from before?”

Zuko opened his mouth to answer before thinking better of it. There was no easy way of explaining _Azula_ of all people to those who didn’t already know her.

“It’s…complicated.” Zuko settled on, his eyebrows turning down into a frown as they began the ascent on one of Hogwarts’ main staircases, “Azula’s just…Azula.”

“So mystery girl has a name?” Fred grinned, nodding his head thoughtfully, “Don’t tell me you have a crush on an ickle firstie.”

Zuko scowled darkly at the thought as a memory assaulted him abruptly.

_The year was 1990. Zuko had just attended the funeral of his older cousin, Lu Ten, and was still in his mourning white funeral clothes. His father had instructed him not to shed any tears during the funeral procession, as tears would make him weak, and weakness was unacceptable in his father’s eyes. Still, he felt the bitter sting of tears in his eyes, the tears clutching to his eyelashes and refusing to fall._

_The door to Zuko’s room, where he was attempting to seek refuge from the mass of people who would be asking him questions about his cousin’s death, opened slowly, letting out a dramatic creaking sound. Zuko already knew it was Azula before she fully stepped into his room._

_Only Azula would have the indecency to disturb him while he was mourning._

_“Hello Zuzu.” Azula greeted happily, her eyes denoting her eagerness, “Isn’t today just a wonderful day?”_

_Zuko tried his best to ignore her, turning away from the door and moving over to his window. From the window, he could still see the crowd of people paying respects to Lu Ten’s father, Iroh, as they gave him their condolences._

_“With Lu Ten gone,” Azula continued, as she was unaware of Zuko’s attempt at ignoring her, “Uncle Fuddy Duddy has no heir to the throne. He’ll **have** to make dad Fire Lord then.”_

_Zuko whipped around and scowled at Azula. How could she be so inconsiderate? Their only cousin had just **died** , and all she was concerned about was their father possibly becoming leader of the Fire Nation._

_“You have no heart.” Zuko told her coldly, the tremble in his voice weakening his attempt at seeming determined, “Mom said people like you…”_

_“No one cares about what your mother says.” Azula interrupted him, a flash going through her eyes at the mention of Ursa, “Just watch. She won’t always be able to coddle you when…”_

_“She’s your mother too, Azula!” Zuko exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air in a show of his frustration, “Stop pretending like we’re not related! She’s **our** mother, and I’m your brother. Just because Lu Ten’s… **dead** doesn’t mean you can stop caring about family.”_

_Zuko was well aware of the fact that Azula held their mother in low regard. In fact, in the past few years, Lu Ten had been the only reason why Azula didn’t constantly terrorize Zuko. With Lu Ten gone, there was no telling how extreme Azula would get._

_Instead of taking his words to heart, Azula rolled her eyes, shrugging in an uncaring manner before she began to walk to the door. Before she could leave, however, she turned around to face Zuko once more, her eyes dangerously narrowed and her tone low as she spoke._

_“We can’t choose who we’re related to.” Azula said icily, the tone rocking Zuko to his twelve-year-old core, “We may be brother and sister for **now** , but that doesn’t mean I’ll spare you.”_

_“Spare me from what?” Zuko asked hurriedly, cursing himself for even asking. Azula always had a way of keeping him interested, whether or not Zuko wanted to be._

_Azula paused, a smirk on her face as she faced Zuko for the last time before leaving the room._

_“You’ll see soon enough… **brother**.”_

Zuko was brought out of his musings by George’s hand making contact with the back of his head.

“Azula’s my sister.” Zuko said shortly, trying to ignore the questioning look on both of the twins’ faces, “ _End_ of discussion.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Update: Friday


	4. Prodigy

As Draco was quickly learning upon his arrival at Hogwarts, Azula Ryland was a natural. A prodigy, the type of person that didn’t have to put forth any effort in order to succeed. In all of her classes, Azula was easily top of the class, surpassing even Hermione Granger.

“How do you do that?” Draco asked Azula one morning before Potions class. Their professor, and Draco’s godfather, Severus Snape, hadn’t arrived to class yet, giving Draco ample time to talk to Azula.

Azula regarded him with a raised eyebrow.

“What exactly are you referring to Malfoy?” Azula had a habit of referring to Draco by his last name, a sign that she didn’t consider him a friend, despite their newly formed alliance. It was as if she found it hard to trust others, but Draco was determined to gain her trust by the time they graduated, “I do a lot of things.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“You always excel in every class.” Draco explained casually, shrugging his shoulders, “Even Granger is bolder than usual, always trying to ask you for tips.”

At this, Azula snorted.

“She will _never_ be as good as I am.” Azula declared haughtily, a sneer pulling at her lips, “I’m a _prodigy_. I was born lucky.”

And Draco believed her. It appeared that whatever Azula touched would turn to gold. If she made an attempt to answer a question in a class, she would earn multiple points for Slytherin. If she spoke out of turn to a teacher, the most she would get was a light reprimand, but no points were ever taken from Slytherin.

“Tell me more about this Snape person.” Azula demanded, “What kind of person is he?”

“He can be a real pain in the arse, but he’s loyal to the right causes.” Draco reassured her, mulling over how to describe the conflicting man his mother chose to be his godfather, “I’ve heard from older Slytherins that he’s always giving points to Slytherin, so we should be fine.”

Azula nodded in approval and looked to her textbook for the class, _Magical Drafts and Potions_ by Arsenius Jigger. Draco didn’t know why she bothered looking over notes. It was likely that she already knew what the day’s lesson would entail, whether she studied or not. Rather than questioning her, however, he followed suit.

As the rest of the class trickled in, Snape included, Draco surmised that this would be a very interesting lesson indeed.

“Ah, Harry Potter in the flesh.” Snape murmured sarcastically as he took attendance, his black eyes glinting coldly, “So nice of this year’s celebrity to grace us with his presence.”

Azula scoffed in disbelief, and Draco refrained from chuckling at her expression. Of _course_ she would be offended that he didn’t address her royal stature. Instead, he chose to laugh, along with Crabbe and Goyle at Snape’s sarcasm.

As Snape finished calling roll, he made a brief, respectful mention of Azula’s heritage before continuing with his introduction. Draco didn’t miss how Azula preened at the attention.

“It would appear that Mr. Malfoy and Ms. Ryland appreciate the saying that ‘being early is on time.’” Snape said softly, his tone hardly more than a firm whisper, “Thirty points to Slytherin.”

As Ron Weasley opened his mouth to protest, Harry Potter jabbed him sharply in the ribs, hushing any complaint that would’ve left the red-haired boy’s lips.

“I do not expect any of you to appreciate how delicate of an art potions making is.” Snape drawled as he walked slowly around the classroom, “I can teach you how to produce fame, glory, and even death. That _is_ , if you are all intelligent enough to comprehend.”

Silence dawned upon the class at Snape’s lecture. No one seemed brave enough to contradict anything Snape had said, and Draco found himself bored. If he didn’t already agree with everything Snape had already said, _he_ certainly would’ve been brave enough to address him. He looked over to Azula and noticed that she appeared to share his sentiment of boredom.

To make things slightly more interesting, and a lot more amusing for Draco, Snape spontaneously asked Potter a question, something about asphodel and wormwood. As expected, Potter didn’t know the answer. Also expected, Granger’s hand was the first one in the air, eager to come to Precious Potter’s rescue and show off her own intelligence in the process.

“It would appear that fame cannot solve all of your problems, Potter.” Snape sneered, “I’m a forgiving person, so let’s try this again. Should you require one, where would you be able to find a bezoar?”

Granger’s hand was still in the air, as if it were making an attempt at grazing the ceiling. Potter still didn’t know the answer and as a result, shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“I still don’t know the answer, sir.”

Snape, if possible, looked even more displeased, only adding to Draco’s mirth. It was only the first lesson of the year, and the golden boy had already managed to get on Snape’s wrong side. As he asked Potter more questions, it was becoming more and more evident that Snape, for whatever reason, was targeting Potter. Granger, relentless, kept her hand raised.

“Hermione may know the answer.” Potter said quietly, “I think she deserves a chance to answer the questions. It’s no fun if you give me all the attention, now is it professor?”

A few Gryffindors laughed, but that only served to increase Snape’s displeasure.

“Sit down Ms. Granger. I am not looking to _you_ for an answer.” Snape said harshly before beginning to explain the answers to his own questions, “You should be copying this down. Why do I not see quills moving?”

As Draco began to write, he took distinct pleasure in seeing the disheartened look on Granger’s face. Served her right. If she, as a mudblood, had the _gall_ to try and steal proper pureblood magic, then she deserved all the humiliation and rejection she could get.

“One point will be taken from Gryffindor for your audacity.” Snape directed towards Potter, amidst the noise of quills on parchment, “Learn your place Potter.”

As the students continued to write as Snape lecture them, a quiet voice startled them all.

“Don’t you think you’re being a bit childish, professor?” Azula’s voice was light, but firm as she made direct eye contact with Snape, the intensity in her eyes signifying that she wouldn’t back down.

Gasps erupted around the room at Azula’s words, and Draco found himself surprised as well.

_What was she **doing**?_

“Is that so, Ms. Ryland?” Snape’s tone was deathly calm.

“That is so.” Azula said mockingly before her tone became serious once more, “It’s evident that you have some sort of vendetta against Potter. Granted, there could be many reasons for that; just look at him. But the sign of being a proper leader is to hear the thoughts of _all_ individuals, no matter how grating their presence may be. _Then_ you ignore their thoughts in favor of your own desires. _That_ is how you’ll leave your mark.”

Obviously, that was a jab at Granger, but Draco couldn’t understand why Azula would defend not one, but _two_ Gryffindors in the same breath.

Snape stared at Azula silently, his cold eyes narrowed as he took in her haughty appearance. With a dramatic wave of his hand, Snape lined all of the desks with cauldrons and various ingredients for potion-making.

“You will form groups of twos.” Snape appeared to be ignoring Azula’s remark, and for reasons Draco didn’t understand, Azula seemed pleased with herself. She should count herself lucky that Snape never took points away from Slytherins, “You will be working on a potion that cures boils. Follow instructions. I do not want a repeat of my lesson with the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs.”

No one bothered asking Snape what happened that lesson, choosing to pair up instead. Obviously, Draco chose to work with Azula, despite the repeated efforts of Pansy Parkinson to get him to work with her. Pansy was the clingy sort of girl that Draco would rather distance himself from. Sure, he occasionally showed her bits of affection, but it was more for his reputation than actual care for the girl.

“You shouldn’t taunt Snape like that.” Draco warned, his tone low as he spoke to Azula. He didn’t want any unwelcome person overhearing their conversation, “He favors the Slytherins, but if I know him well enough, he’ll find more… _discreet_ ways to punish you.”

Draco vaguely remembered an incident between him and his godfather that resulted in Draco’s bottom being assaulted with a stinging hex.

Azula rolled her eyes, having already finished weighing the dried nettles and moving onto crushing the snake fangs.

“I don’t worry about people like him.” Azula said nonchalantly, giving Draco his share of horned slugs to stew, “He’s just like Zuzu, always trying to prove something to someone who doesn’t care.”

Draco waited for a further explanation, but he got none. Instead, he registered Snape complimenting him on his stewing of the horned slugs.

As a green mist began to cover the room, Draco turned his attention to the source. Green sludge was gaining ground on the floor, burning whatever it came in contact with, causing the majority of the class to cower on their stools. As the sludge approached Azula’s shoes, instead of burning a hole through them, it bubbled rapidly, as if being burned, before vaporizing. Azula looked unimpressed as she stared down a sobbing Neville Longbottom.

Leave it to Longbottom to mess up his first attempt at brewing a potion. An absolute _disgrace_ to purebloods everywhere.

“Idiot!” Snape hissed as he effortlessly cleaned up the spilled point with a nonverbal incantation, “Did I not _specifically_ tell everyone to remove the cauldron from the fire _before_ infusing porcupine quills?”

As Neville continued to cry, nasty boils appeared all over his face. It was ironic, as the potion was supposed to ensure the opposite. Snape demanded that Seamus Finnigan be the one to take Longbottom to the hospital wing before he, once again, found something to blame Potter for.

“Neglecting to assist another student to make yourself look glorious, eh?” Snape queried in disgust, “One more point from Gryffindor for good measure.”

Draco turned towards Azula once more, as did everyone else. He was curious to see if she would stick up for Potter again.

She said nothing.

* * *

After her first Potions lesson with the Gryffindors, Azula was less than impressed with Hogwarts. Sure, Defense Against the Dark Arts vaguely reminded her of her firebending lessons, and Potions could eventually help her learn to… _influence_ her enemies, but the students were so dreadfully far behind her. The professor, Quirinus Quirrell, was an absolute joke, with his spineless stuttering. Hence, for the most part, she ignored him. Not only that, but people feared her harsh personality to the point that they, for the most part, tended to stay away from her, with the exception of Slytherins, Zuko, and that infuriating Granger, of course.

If Mai was there, she would make a dry reference to how Azula had the same effect on people when she was still at the Royal Fire Academy for Girls, so she should, in theory, be used to it. Ty Lee, on the other hand, would mention that no matter what, Azula was still the “smartest, most perfect girl in the world” to her. Granted, all of those things were true, but she still found it annoying that people avoided her as opposed to worshipping her.

Rather than lamenting over how ridiculous she found her classmates to be, while waiting for the first year quidditch lesson with Madam Hooch, Azula decided to read the letters she had received, courtesy of her new owl, Sapphira.

The first letter was from Mai:

_Princess Azula,_

_It’s been a long while since I last saw you. I was unaware of the fact that you would be leaving before summer’s end. Your father has announced to the nation that you would be attending a special school in Scotland, in order to gain knowledge that will help you to become a greater asset to the Fire Nation._

_If I am honest, I am not surprised. You have always shown a great desire to serve your nation. I, my parents included, am very proud of your aspirations._

_I wish you luck in all of your endeavors._

_Sincerely,_

_Lady Mai, daughter of Lord Ukano and Lady Michi_

As Azula finished reading the letter, she scoffed. She knew her friend well, and those were not her words. Obviously, Mai’s mother didn’t trust Mai enough to write a letter to the crown princess without besmirching their family name. She quickly flipped over the letter, not surprised to see Mai’s real response etched on the back.

_Azula,_

_You’ll have to forgive my mother’s stupidity. She didn’t seem to realize that as soon as she left the room, I would write my own letter to you on the back before sending it off. I know you don’t like kiss-ups, so I won’t tell you all these saccharine things about how proud I’m supposed to be of you, or how much good you’re doing for the Fire Nation. You already know these things, so there’s no point in reiterating._

_I figured that you’d be following the same path as Zuko, going off to a magical school and learning new crafts. I also know that you’ll do your best to separate yourself from any legacy that Zuko may have formed for himself. For all I know, you may even pretend that you’re not related to him. Suit yourself._

_I only have a few words of advice:_

  1. _Try not to burn/maim anyone. Regardless of being the princess, there **are** people in this world who would be foolish enough to retaliate, and you don’t want any more blood on your hands than necessary._
  2. _Please don’t leave me here with Ty Lee for too long. She misses you, and Agni help me, I may impale her if she mentions one more thing about missing “Zula.”_



_I guess that’s all. Be sure to visit soon – the Fire Nation is boring now._

_~Mai_

Azula reflected on Mai’s words silently, her fingers brushing against the fabric of her four-poster bed within one of the Slytherin dorms. She _really_ had to find a way to get a better bed. This four-poster was _nothing_ compared to the bed she had back in the Fire Nation. But with regards to Mai’s letter, she was glad to see that her friend’s dry humor hadn’t changed. Impaling Ty Lee was an exaggeration, but Azula could tell that Mai was losing patience with their ditzy friend.

It was said ditzy friend’s letter that Azula decided to read next.

_Hi Zula!_

_I can’t believe you left and didn’t even tell Mai or me! I’m gonna miss you sooooo much. Mai can be so dull sometimes. I miss you threatening people. It wasn’t nice, but it was **you**. No one can ever replace you Zula._

_Your dad said you were off doing your duty to the Fire Nation. That’s so cool! I always knew you would do great things. Like, you’re so smart. The smartest person I know. I just know you’ll be amazing._

_It’s so cool that you and Zuko get to go off to a fancy magic school. I’ve always wanted magic to be real, and now it is!_

At this, Azula rolled her eyes. Ty Lee could be so giddy sometimes, and said giddiness was palpable through her letter.

_Anyways, I wish you all the best of luck Zula. Make sure to write me and Mai lots._

_Did I mention that I miss you?_

_Love,_

_Ty Lee_

After reading Ty Lee’s letter, there was only one left. Distinguished by the Fire Nation insignia, it was evident who this last letter was from. Letting out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, Azula began to read.

_Princess Azula,_

_I trust you are upholding the royal family name at Hogwarts_ (Azula wasn’t surprised that the pleasantries were skipped.) _. I have received a letter from one of your professors. I know you are familiar with Severus Snape. He has made me aware of your conduct in his class. Need I remind you that we do not concern ourselves with defending the lower class? (_ Azula didn’t need to be reminded of what happened to Zuko when he tried to show sympathy for those beneath the royal family) _. You were right in your assertion of the characteristics of a good leader, but as I have already taught Zuko, there is a time and place for letting your opinions be known. Do not make me have to repeat myself._ (Azula involuntarily shuddered) _._

_I am aware of your progress at learning the magical craft. You are doing your nation proud, and I trust that I do not have to tell you what will happen if you begin to divert from my teachings._

_I expect weekly updates from you on how your firebending practice is going._

_~Fire Lord Ozai_

Azula sighed deeply to herself once finishing her last letter. Between schoolwork and actually attending class, when did her father expect her to find the time to practice her firebending? As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she pushed it away. That line of thought was for the _weak_ , and she most certainly wasn’t weak.

Before she could begin to pen her response to all three letters, a familiar, high pitched voice disturbed her.

“Azula.” came the voice of Pansy Parkinson, “We have a quidditch lesson with the Gryffindors in a few minutes.”

Azula scowled at the girl, causing the latter to shrink back and return down the stairs she came from. Who did she think she was? Did she assume that Azula wasn’t competent enough to tell the time?

Chancing a glance at the clock next to her, Azula registered the time. Pansy had been right, not that Azula would ever tell her that. With a purse of her lips, Azula secured her letters, placing them at the bottom of one of her suitcases, where it would be forgotten temporarily. Squaring her shoulders, she made her way up the stairs of the Slytherin dungeon.

* * *

Azula didn’t understand why Madam Hooch insisted on coddling the first years so much. How hard could it be to command a broomstick? All one had to do was will it to listen to them.

“Raise your arm out, like so.” Madam Hooch instructed the first year Gryffindors and Slytherins, actively demonstrating her words, “and think of how much you want the broom to raise up into your hand. Then, yell ‘UP!’”

Before she had even finished her words, the broomstick obeyed her, instantly flying up into her hand. Her silence implied the permission for the students to follow suit. Not many students were successful in their attempts. Hermione Granger’s broom wobbled pathetically on the ground. Parvati Patil’s broom rose about two inches before dropping to the floor, and Lavender Brown’s broom didn’t even move at all.

In fact, the only people who yielded successful results were Azula, Malfoy, Potter, Seamus Finnigan, and Weasley. Azula couldn’t understand why so many failed at such a simple task. All one had to do was mentally command the broom to follow orders. Of course, as a born leader, Azula wasn’t surprised that she had grasped the task easily.

“Amateurs.” Malfoy mumbled softly next to her. His eyes were narrowed in displeasure, and Azula agreed with his sentiment, “How hard is it to control something?”

The corners of Azula’s lips turned up. Malfoy was right. If it was so easy for people to give into human nature and attempt to manipulate others, it shouldn’t be so hard to control something that couldn’t talk back.

“Now, on my count,” Madam Hooch continued, her gaze sweeping along the row of first years, “I want you to straddle the broom and kick off softly from the ground.”

Whether the reason was stupidity or cowardice, Azula would never know, but before Madam Hooch could even give the signal, Neville Longbottom kicked the ground roughly, sending the broomstick – with him on top of it – rocketing into the air. Azula resisted the urge to face-palm. There were instructions for a _reason_.

“Longbottom, get down here this instant!” Madam Hooch screeched, “What in Merlin’s name do you think you’re doing?”

Longbottom’s cries could be heard from the ground, causing Azula to roll her eyes. There was a reason weak people could never have nice things. They simply didn’t understand the appropriate time to strike.

Azula decided to teach him.

Careful to keep her face emotionless, Azula observed the people around her. They were all too enamored with watching Longbottom’s folly. Raising two fingers, Azula aimed at the broom Longbottom was on, letting a thin stream of fire flow from her fingers onto the broom.

The result was instantaneous. Longbottom howled in pain as the broomstick – quite literally – began to light up under his backside. The incident reminded Azula of a trick she had played on Zuko when they were younger, back when their mother was still…

_No_

Azula wasn’t going to let her thoughts drift to the woman she abhorred almost as much as Zuko and Uncle Iroh.

Azula could hear Malfoy and some other Slytherins beside her trying to hold in their laughter as Longbottom fell off of his broom, the effort turning their faces bright red. Finally, Azula allowed herself a small smile.

_There is no place for the weak._

The voice in her head was her father’s, but Azula had long accepted that her father’s ideologies would turn her into the strong person she so desired to be.

As Madam Hooch rushed over to Longbottom, horrified at the boy’s broken wrist, Malfoy leaned closer to Azula.

“I _know_ you did something to his broom.” Malfoy whispered smugly, his eyes alight in amusement as Madam Hooch escorted the bruised Longbottom to the hospital wing, instructing she students not to move a muscle in her absence, “I want to know _how_.”

Azula only raised an eyebrow at him. Did he really think she’d divulge her methods to him? Was he really so daft as to think Azula trusted him?

Apparently so.

“You have no idea what I can do.” Azula settled on. It was the truth; he really _didn’t_ know her, but Azula had no interest of enlightening him at the moment.

A shiny object on the ground caught Azula’s attention.

_Longbottom’s remembrall_

Azula vaguely recounted Longbottom’s explanation of needing the small, spherical object to keep track of things he would otherwise forget.

This should be interesting.

Tossing the remembrall nonchalantly in one hand, Azula took note of Potter’s expression. The boy was always trying to be noble, so it didn’t surprise her when he made an attempt to retrieve the remembrall from her.

“Give it back Ryland.” Harry’s tone was quiet, just shy of a whisper. The firmness of his voice, however, was what Azula focused on. It was as if he actually thought using a hard tone would work on her. He obviously hadn’t met her father, “That belongs to Neville.”

Azula let the shadow of a smile grace her features. She felt the eyes of all the Gryffindors and Slytherins on her as she strode over to Potter. She feigned a warm look on her face as she extended her hand towards Potter.

“You’re right. It _does_ belong to Longbottom.” She crooned, titling her head to the side in an effort to appear more contrite.

She turned and made brief eye contact with Malfoy, raising an eyebrow. If he understood her meaning, he said nothing as she turned back to Potter. As Potter reached his hand out, fingertips barely grazing the surface of the remembrall, Azula abruptly snatched her hand back.

“On second thought.” Azula grinned, tossing the remembrall blindly behind her, “I don’t really care.”

Walking to stand between Daphne Greengrass and Blaise Zabini, Azula watched as Weasley made a desperate attempt to grab the remembrall, being roughly shoved aside by Crabbe so Malfoy could catch it.

“Let’s see you get it from me now, Potter.” Malfoy sneered as he took off on his broom.

A glint appeared in Potter’s eyes and despite Granger’s protests, he went after Malfoy.

“Nice throw.” Blaise congratulated Azula, the warmth in the Italian boy’s tone evident as a grin appeared on his face. His voice distracted her from the debacle that was probably occurring in the sky above them.

Azula acknowledged him with a nod. She opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a furious sounding shout.

“HARRY POTTER!”

The indignant voice came from none other than Minerva McGonagall, transfiguration professor and head of Gryffindor house. She ignored protests from Granger and Weasley, who insisted that the fault lied with Malfoy, and escorted Potter inside Hogwarts.

Afterwards, when Madam Hooch came back, the rest of the flying lesson went without any further issues. Azula wasn’t surprised when she mastered the art of flying on her first attempt. The feeling was similar to the feeling she got whenever she used her firebending to propel herself into the air.

Still, flying on an actual broom felt refreshing to her.

* * *

Rather than joining the rest of the school at dinner, following the flying lessons, Azula chose to take her food with her, retreating to the Slytherin dungeons. She needed time for herself, without the constant buzzing of other students and Malfoy’s attempts at showing off for anyone who would pay him any attention. She decided that the peace and quiet would allow her the mindset needed to write response letters to Mai, Ty Lee, and her father.

To Mai, she wrote:

_Mai,_

_I’m not crazy enough to burn anyone alive…without proper cause. I will do my best not to find a cause. It wouldn’t be good for my reputation to treat **everyone** as if they were Zuzu._

_Consider your time with Ty Lee all the times you left me in favor of stalking Zuzu. This will be your punishment. I sincerely hope that she rambles to you about all of her crushes, just the way she did to me. Maybe then, you’ll truly accept who the better royal sibling is._

_Unless my father wishes otherwise, I will be returning to the Fire Nation around Christmas time. I’m sure you won’t die of boredom till I get there, but if you do, I’ll consider it flattery. I know my presence is greatly missed._

_Until next time,_

_Azula_

Satisfied with what she wrote, Azula began her letter to Ty Lee.

_Ty Lee,_

_What you heard from my father is accurate – I am away serving our great nation. I’m learning all about magical crafts in hopes that I will be able to increase the glory of the Fire Nation._

_In language that **you** can understand, I’m learning to make things go “sparky sparky boom boom” with a magic wand to help the Fire Nation._

_Don’t ever expect me to be that colloquial ever again. Consider this the one exception to my normally flawless vernacular._

_As for your request to write you “lots,” I will write whenever I get the will to. I am a very busy person, and I hope, for your sake, that you can understand this._

_Make sure to drive Mai crazy for me. Nag her to wear pink. Talk about boys with her. Bring up Zuzu. Anything to make her squirm._

_That is an order from your princess! I’m expecting a letter back from the both of you in response to your antics._

_Yours truly (but not really),_

_Azula_

With Mai and Ty Lee out of the way, Azula only had to worry about one more letter -  the one to her father. His letter from her had to be, by far, more thoughtful than the ones she crafted to Mai and Ty Lee.

_Lord Father,_

_I am doing well in school, and will continue to do so. I have addressed my behavior in Professor Snape’s class and will no longer make the same mistake that I did previously._

_Mistakes are weakness and as a princess of the Fire Nation, I only intend to exude strength and power._

_All of my professors agree that I am a prodigious student. I have not made a single academic mistake in any of their classes, and I am proficient enough to be top of my class._

_As for my firebending, I have mastered lightning bending, the proper technique for it. Every time I produce lightning now, not a hair is out of place. I apologize for my previous shortcomings with this area of firebending. Next, I will learn how to produce lightning at a faster rate, to become an even stronger adversary to my enemies._

_I will continue to represent the Fire Nation in a manner that you deem appropriate. I will **not** fail you._

_I **will** be better than Zuko._

_Your loyal daughter,_

_Princess Azula_

Taking a deep breath of relief, Azula gave the letters to her owl, Sapphira, to deliver. She knew that her owl was efficient enough to get the letters to their destinations in a timely fashion.

Making her way to the common area of Slytherin dungeons, Azula reclined in one of the couches within the room. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply – in and out, in and out. The ambiance of the common room was soothing, and she figured that with the rest of the students at dinner, she would at least have a few minutes of contentment to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who has given this story a kudos, or even just read it! It truly means a lot. Next update will be on Monday.


	5. Midnight Cowardice

Azula wasn’t a fan of many things, but _cowardice_ was the worst of all. Her father had told her all about what happened to soldiers on the battlefield who displayed the foul trait, and she wasn’t too keen on having the same thing happen to her. She wasn’t around to hear Malfoy talk about his latest plot at dinnertime to get Potter in trouble, but she had the misfortune of sharing a common room with the pretentious idiot. As a result, she was forced to listen to him ramble on continuously about what he deemed his best accomplishment yet.

“You should’ve seen his face.” Malfoy was saying, his chest swelling with pride.

He had managed to gather a small crowd in the Slytherin common room to declare his latest victory to. The crowd consisted of people who probably just surrounded Malfoy for his family name and if Azula was honest, she thought that was pathetic. Fear was definitely a more reliable way to assure loyalty. After all, a name is just that – a name.

It’s the sentiment that matters.

Based on the slight cheering within the common room, Azula resigned herself to the fact that for the next seven years, she would be stuck with idiots…idiots who would rather cheer on an amateur than admit that they had better ambition. _Pathetic_.

“I told him to meet me in the trophy room for a duel.” Malfoy continued, a smirk on his features at what he deemed his own cleverness, “Then that Weasley fool tried to back him, so I told him I’d have Crabbe come with me too, as my second of course.”

Malfoy paused, supposedly for dramatic effect, and Azula rolled her eyes. She couldn’t believe that people were actually entertained by this. She wished, but would never admit to anyone, that Mai and Ty Lee were there. Mai would agree that this was terribly droll, and Ty Lee’s mindless chatter would get Azula’s mind off of the nonsense that Malfoy was sprouting.

“Oh Drakey.” came the cry of Pansy Parkinson, the simpleton Azula was forced to share a dormitory with, “What if you get hurt? I simply won’t know what to do with myself.”

Azula sneered at the girl’s desperate attempt at bonding with Malfoy. She was practically draped over Malfoy’s lap with how closely she was leaning into him. Her arm was wrapped around his shoulders and her face was buried in his neck. Malfoy, ever the _gracious_ prat, rubbed her back in consolation. Azula could practically imagine the girl purring at Malfoy’s attention. _Disgusting_.

“That’s what I was getting to Pansy, don’t fret.” Draco made an attempt to sound valiant but to Azula, his pre-adolescent voice butchered it, making him sound like a mongoose-lion giving birth. He cleared his throat before continuing, “I gave Old Filch a little tip. Let’s just say that Potter’ll be in detention long enough to have Slytherin win the Quidditch Cup another year. That’ll teach him to mess with a Malfoy.”

* * *

Draco felt a great sense of pride while recounting to his fellow Slytherins the tale of how he put Potter and Weasley in their places. As Pansy nodded into his neck in approval and the Slytherins within the common room cheered for him, an almost genuine smile appeared on his lips. Out of the corner of his eyes, he spotted Azula Ryland perched on a lone loveseat near the window. He couldn’t help but study her facial features as he embellished his story. Surely, _something_ had to impress the girl.

“That’ll teach him to mess with a Malfoy.” Draco sniffed haughtily, nodding for emphasis as Marcus Flint clapped him on the back heartily.

Draco fully believed in his own words. After Filch was done with them, Potter, and by extension Weasley, wouldn’t give him any trouble ever again. In fact, Potter may very well just reconsider Draco’s offer of friendship. Benevolent as he was, Draco would accept him into the fold of his friends. After months of groveling, he would even let him surpass Crabbe and Goyle in his friend group.

Amidst the approval of the other Slytherins, what stuck out to Draco was Azula’s scowl. Granted, the girl never gave a genuine smile, but this scowl spoke volumes of supreme disdain to Draco. She abruptly got up and made her way for the entrance of the Slytherin dungeon, her desire to leave fully apparent.

“What’s wrong Ryland?” jeered Marcus Flint, his lips turning up into a wicked grin, made complete by his rotten, crooked teeth, “Can’t stand to hear what _real_ Slytherins do? Don’t think we didn’t hear about you cutting Potter slack the other day in Potions. What is he, your boyfriend or something?”

The dark look that appeared on Azula’s face was truly terrifying to Draco, but he masked his features into a look of cold indifference. A glint appeared in her golden orbs and she raised her hand swiftly. Though her hand was a blur, Draco was still able to make out a flash of blue as her hand came back down. What that flash was, Draco didn’t know, but before he could question her about it, Flint cried out in pain. Draco’s attention was diverted from Azula to Flint, whose robes has suddenly caught fire. The flames flickered a bright orange as Flint hastily took off his robes, dousing them in water with a quick _aguamenti_. Only a miniscule, blue spark appeared before it slowly died out.

“The bloody hell was that?” Flint demanded irately, shoving off any attempts to calm him down, “The wench attacked me and ruined my new robes! I’m gonna hex her the next time she tries that, girl or not.”

As Flint ranted and raved, Draco was lost in thought. His father had shown him enough wandless, silent ways of producing fire, but none of them were as short and to the point as whatever it was Azula had done.

By the time Draco looked back at the common room entrance, ready to demand an explanation from Azula, the golden-eyed girl had disappeared.

* * *

Despite Hermione’s warning, Harry found himself sneaking out of the Gryffindor common room with Ron in tow, ready to face Malfoy and Crabbe in a duel in the trophy room. They didn’t get very far before they heard the voice of Hermione Granger beckoning to them.

“I knew the two of you wouldn’t listen to me.” Hermione hissed quietly, standing in front of the boys with her arms crossed. If possible, she looked like even _more_ of a know-it-all than she already was, “Get back in the common room this instant!”

Harry felt a surge of annoyance towards the meddling girl but before he could open his mouth to respond, Ron took over for him.

“Get lost!” Ron fired back hotly, taking hold of one of Harry’s sleeves and dragging him down the corridor, “We don’t need you or your lectures.”

As the boys trekked down the corridor, the sound of fast paced footfalls alerted them to the fact that Hermione was following them. Ignoring her, the boys continued on their way. The trio walked in a tense silence for all of a minute before Harry stumbled, his foot catching on a lump on the ground.

Said lump turned out to be Neville Longbottom, curled up and asleep on the ground near the Gryffindor common room. He startled, abruptly woken by the unintentional kick as he looked up. Once realizing who he was in the presence of, Neville quickly scrambled to his feet.

“Thank Merlin you’re here.” Neville breathed, relief coloring his tone, “I f-forgot the password…again.”

Ron hurriedly shushed him, his tone a mere whisper as he stated, “The password’s _pig snout_ , Neville. Try not to forget that this time. Anyhow, the Fat Lady’s gone now, so you’re out of luck.”

Harry quickly asked Neville about how he was faring after his quidditch related injury and the latter insisted that he was fine now. Once the pleasantries were over, Harry told him that they had elsewhere to be and made to walk off, getting no more than four steps away before Neville started clutching at his robes.

“Don’t l-leave me alone.” Neville whimpered, his eyes filling with tears at the prospect of loneliness, “I don’t like the d-dark. Gran says I should be over that fear by now, but…”

Ron cut him off abruptly.

“Fine, just stay quiet and keep close to us.” He murmured, leveling a sharp glance at both Hermione and Neville, “But I swear, if either of you get us caught…”

His voice trailed off and the (now) group of four began walking again.

Harry was on constant alert, expecting Mrs. Norris to appear at every corner, but to his pleasant surprise, she was nowhere to be found. Slowly, the group of four tiptoed into the trophy room.

As they arrived, Harry took in the sights before him. Trophies, coming in various shades of bronze, silver, and gold, were found all along the room. As Harry continued to study the room, he noticed the different cups, shields, and statues arranged neatly. Deftly, he took out his wand and vigilantly watched all entrances to the room, expecting Malfoy to show up at any second.

One of the entrances opened slowly, drawing the attention of four pairs of eyes. As the figure’s silhouette became visible in the dark room, Harry gripped his wand tighter in his hand, fully prepared to fight. A small, blue flame became visible, lighting the room just enough for him to be able to make out the figure’s face.

_Azula_

The azure light gave the room a semi-creepy ambiance, and made Azula seem even more menacing than usual. Her face gave off no emotion, although her eyes flickered dangerously in the light of the fire.

“What spell are you using to create that fire?” Of _course_ Hermione was the one to break the silence with an education related question, “I’ve been reading all about spells inducing fire, but I haven’t come across one that could – ”

“Oh for crying out loud woman – enough about school!” Ron cried out desperately to Hermione before rounding on Azula, “And what are _you_ doing here?”

Azula pursed her lips at Ron’s tone but rather than calling him out on it, she sighed deeply, snuffing the fire as she closed her hand in the form of a fist.

“Warning you.” Azula said plainly, her voice bored as she stared at her fingernails, “This whole duel thing Malfoy set up is a sham. He’s not _really_ going to show up.”

Harry digested her words silently. Why would Malfoy set up a duel only to not show? The idea made no sense to him, and as he pondered her meaning, he noticed Hermione’s crestfallen face at Azula’s dismissal of her question. He almost felt sorry for her.

“Why should we trust you?” Harry asked Azula finally, never removing his defensive stance, “ _You’re_ a Slytherin. _He’s_ a Slytherin. Why would _you_ help us?”

A small smirk graced Azula’s features as she shrugged nonchalantly. She slowly slinked back to the entrance she came from before she stopped, turning around to look Harry straight in the eyes.

“Suit yourself.” She said simply before leaving the way she came.

Next to him, Ron spoke up.

“What was that about?”

Before Harry could properly answer him, he heard Filch’s voice coaxing Mrs. Norris to be on the prowl, evidently looking for people out of their dormitories at night. He panicked and ran out of the trophy room, Ron, Hermione, and Neville on his heels.

Several minutes later, after encountering a vicious guard dog and narrowly escaping Filch’s wrath, Harry laid awake in bed, thinking of the events of the night. Though the night was eventful, one question in particular stood out to him.

Why did Azula help him?

* * *

_The year was 1987. It was the middle of summertime in the Fire Nation. The fire lilies were finally thriving, children were let out from school, and Azula was doing as Azula does best._

_Being better than Zuko_

_Their father, Ozai, had insisted that the siblings display what their respective firebending instructors had taught them in the form of a faux Agni Kai._

_“What’s an Agni Kai?” Zuko had asked their father, his golden eyes widened in curiosity. Though the nine-year-old had heard the phrase before, the meaning kept evading him._

_With a roll of her eyes, seven-year-old Azula flicked her brother in the forehead, ignoring Zuko’s cry of protest. Their mother had gone to visit her family in Hira’a, and as a result, Zuko couldn’t go running to her every time Azula was cruel to him._

_“An Agni Kai is a fight between firebenders, dum dum.” Azula smirked, pleased with herself as she saw her father nodding in approval, “It helps to settle disputes and can lead to death for the loser. But this is just for practice, so you can live to see another day.”_

_Zuko frowned in confusion and Azula refrained from hitting him again. He could be **so** stupid sometimes._

_“Can’t they just talk about their problems?” Zuko asked, his eyes shining with genuine concern, “Mom says that people can have compromise if they just talk about…”_

_“Talking is for the weak Zuko.” Ozai abruptly interrupted, a warning flash in his eyes, “It would do you well to remember that I do not tolerate weakness.”_

_Zuko bowed his head in shame as Azula smiled wickedly. She loved it when her father scolded Zuko. It meant that there was more room in her father’s eyes for Azula to outshine him._

_“Now let me see what those instructors of yours have taught you.” Ozai instructed, “Begin.”_

_Before the last word had fully left Ozai’s lips, Azula lunged at Zuko, fire dagger at the ready. With a loud squeak of surprise, Zuko barely managed to side step Azula, stumbling as he fought to keep his balance. Giving him no time to recover, Azula raised her leg and brought it down in a vicious arc, bringing fire down with her. Zuko barely managed to block the attack, raising his arms in defense. Unfortunately for him, Azula’s proximity to him made the blocked fire explode around him, forcing him to the ground._

_“I can’t see.” Zuko whined, rubbing furiously at his eyes, “There’s something in my eye. Time out! Time out!”_

_Azula grinned, raising her arm in a fist before bringing it down harshly, ready to end the faux Agni Kai. She was startled, however, when her father grabbed her wrist tightly and yanked her towards him, effectively blocking her pyrokinetic abilities._

_“What do you think you were doing?” Ozai’s tone was a deadly calm._

_Azula gulped. Her father rarely used that tone with her and when he did, it couldn’t mean anything good for her._

_“He couldn’t see.” Azula tried to keep the tremble out of her voice, “I was using that to my advan…”_

_A hard smack to the face cut off her explanation. Slowly, Azula brought a hand to her stinging cheek. Both she and Zuko looked up at their father in a stunned silence._

_“Go to your room Zuko.”_

_Zuko didn’t have to be told twice, and ran away as fast as he could towards the palace._

_“That was a cowardly move, Azula.” Ozai sneered, “What did I tell you about using advantages?”_

_“To use all the advantages that make themselves known.” Azula said quietly, trying in vain to keep the tears out of her eyes, “That’s what I was…”_

_Ozai grabbed Azula’s wrist once more and squeezed. Immediately, Azula felt the burn of her father’s touch. There were no words to explain the white-hot pain that seared up Azula’s arm as her father used his firebending to heat her skin._

_“What **you** did,” Ozai continued, “was fight your opponent when he wasn’t looking. You must **always** make sure that you’re the last thing your enemy sees as he takes his final breath. Your enemy must know their fate. You must always face your enemy, anything less is unacceptable. If you challenge them to a fight, make sure you’re there to end it. There’s a fine line between using every available advantage, and taking a cheap shot, and what you did is considered a cheap shot.”_

_“But father…” Azula started before her father turned his heat up even more. At this point, Azula thought that he was going to burn her arm off, but didn’t dare to scream. That would only make it worse._

_With a rough shove from her father, Azula ended up on the harsh ground, the pain in her arm demanding her attention. Standing over her, Ozai summoned long fire daggers to his side, scowling down at her._

_“For your cowardice,” Ozai said darkly as he stood over Azula, “you shall get forty fire lashes.”_

_As the first lash came down, Azula gritted her teeth, desperate not to make a noise. By the time the twentieth lash had come down, Azula was reeling in and out of consciousness. By the thirtieth lash, Azula had passed out. Even in her comatose state, she could still feel the harsh heat of the lashes, tearing her apart from the inside out until…_

Azula abruptly woke up in a cold sweat the next morning, her chest heaving as she attempted to regulate her breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update will be on Friday. As usual, thanks to all who have read!


	6. A Helping Hand

Draco was displeased to know that his little plan involving tricking Weasley and Potter hadn’t worked. He was _sure_ that this stunt would’ve gotten them expelled. After all, Filch was rarely the forgiving type, especially when it came to students lurking the halls of Hogwarts after curfew hours. He could’ve sworn that Potter winked at him smugly as he sat down at the Gryffindor table for dinner.

Unable to stand the cheeky look he was receiving, Draco made his way over to the Gryffindor table, determined to give Potter a piece of his mind. The boy in question was sitting between Weasley and Zuko Ryland, the brother that Azula refused to claim.

“Why are you still here Potter?” Draco was straight to the point. He didn’t want to be caught consorting with Gryffindors any longer than he absolutely had to.

Potter had the audacity to smile at him, the same smile that Draco’s mother, Narcissa, gave him when she was about to explain something that Draco didn’t want to hear.

 _More reason for him to hate Potter_.

“It’s dinner time, Malfoy.” Potter said slowly, his tone only serving to infuriate Draco more.

Draco scowled as Weasley and Zuko began laughing in earnest. How _dare_ they mock him.

“You know what I mean.” Draco insisted darkly, “Why are you still _here_?”

At this, Potter blinked a few times, his glasses making the action even more magnified to Draco’s eyes. After a few seconds, the smile disappeared from Potter’s lips, his green eyes beginning to narrow.

“I know that the duel was a farce.” Potter crossed his arms as he gave Draco a scathing look, “I should’ve figured that out sooner, but what matters is that I figured it out before it was too late.”

Draco pursed his lips in frustration. He wanted to know how Potter had figured out what his plan was. No decent Slytherin would ever dare to cross Draco, and the only people he had relayed his plan to _were_ Slytherins. Before Draco could get too far into his musings, Weasley spoke up, unsurprisingly through a mouthful of food.

“Maybe you should be asking your little girlfriend.” Weasley said, unceremoniously trying to talk while shoving a forkful of potatoes into his mouth, “She was – sorry, mouth was full. She was the one who told us.”

Draco raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Azula?” Draco asked incredulously. She wouldn’t do something like that…would she?

At the mention of Azula, Zuko’s head abruptly shot up. He had been drinking a goblet of pumpkin juice, but now, his interest had been properly gauged. He grabbed Draco’s arm, and despite the blond boy’s protests, dragged him out of the Great Hall.

Once away from prying ears, Zuko released his grasp on Draco, the latter who was now rubbing his arm where the older boy had previously had a firm grip.

“My father will hear about this.” were the first words to leave Draco’s lips. In hindsight, Draco realized that his father, Lucius Malfoy, would be less than pleased to hear that Draco had been bested by another boy grabbing his arm, but Zuko didn’t have to know that.

Zuko snorted, rolling his golden eyes. The older boy seemed almost amused by Draco’s threat, as if he didn’t entirely understand the full implication of having a Malfoy as an enemy. As Draco opened his mouth to continue, Zuko abruptly cut his words off.

“Save it, Malfoy.” Zuko said nonchalantly, his eyes narrowed, “Now tell me why you’re hanging around with Azula.”

It was Draco’s turn to roll his eyes. He had been forced out of the Great Hall, in the middle of dinner, to deal with an overbearing older brother? He imagined that if Azula was there, she would’ve given Zuko hell about it.

“It’s none of your business scar face.” Draco spat, “I don’t answer to the likes of _you_.”

Zuko huffed impatiently.

“I’m trying to _help_ you, idiot.” Zuko hissed, his eyes blazing passionately, “You don’t know what Azula’s like. She _always_ lies.”

Draco snorted in disbelief. Did the older boy really think he could deter his alliance with Azula based on the fact that the girl _lied_?”

“Most Slytherins do.” Draco shot back before shaking his head, “Why am I even entertaining a conversation with you?”

Zuko sighed, running a hand through his raven hair. The older boy seemed genuinely distressed at the thought of not getting through to Draco.

“Fine. Suit yourself.” Zuko frowned as he turned away from Draco, moving to walk back into the Great Hall, “I just thought you should know what you’re getting yourself into.”

Zuko paused.

“Azula never does anything unless it benefits her.” he finished, leaving Draco alone in the corridor.

Draco mulled over Zuko’s words silently for a while. So _what_ if Azula told a lot of lies? It wasn’t as if Draco was actually trying to be her _friend_. As far as he was concerned, she would be a great ally to have. If his father had taught him nothing else, he had taught him that to get ahead in life, allies didn’t have to become friends.

Draco brought himself out of his musings sharply and went back into the Great Hall, ignoring Zuko’s gaze as he sat down at the Slytherin table, next to Blaise Zabini. Blaise’s mother, Sandria, went to school with Draco’s mother and as such, both he and Blaise spent time together during their childhoods.

“Are you alright, amico?” Blaise had a habit of delving into his native Italian occasionally, “You seem shaken?”

Draco nodded his head. He didn’t feel up to divulging his troubles in such a public area, if even at all.

“Fine.” Draco answered shortly, taking a small bite of a piece of bread, “This bread isn’t as good as the one in Siena.”

Blaise smirked proudly.

“ _Nothing_ beats Italian cuisines.”

Draco let a semi-genuine smile grace his features. He could always count on Blaise to improve his mood.

“TROLL IN THE DUNGEONS!”

The shout was abrupt, seemingly coming from everywhere at once. It was, in fact, coming from the entrance to the Great Hall, courtesy of Professor Quirrinus Quirrell. He was the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for this year, and the man had always appeared timid to Draco. If Draco wasn’t already proficient in casting spells, he would’ve complained to his father about the man’s incompetence.

The result was almost instantaneous. Students were screaming in panic as the professors desperately attempted to comfort them. Prefects were ordered to escort the students to their dormitories and Draco almost laughed at the irony. There was a _troll_ in the dungeons and Slytherins were expected to go to their dormitories…in the _dungeons_.

“Slytherins, over here!” The yell came from 6th year Slytherin prefect, Malia di Angelo. She was Blaise’s paternal older cousin and as such, had a constant haughty expression on her face. Rumor had it, she was dating a Hufflepuff girl, Emilie Lacroix, but no one ever brought the subject up in front of Malia, “Stay together!”

Malia, in true older cousin fashion, grabbed Blaise by the neck of his robes and ushered him forward, ahead of the rest of the Slytherins, despite his protests for her to stop babying him. She appeared determined to at least protect her own. Keeping the rest of the Slytherins safe would just be a bonus in her eyes.

As he made his way to the Slytherin dormitories, followed by Crabbe and Goyle, Draco got the distinct feeling that something – or rather _someone_ – was missing. The feeling unnerved him.

“Where’s Ryland?” Goyle asked Draco in a rare bout of intelligence.

At this, Draco almost froze in his tracks. The girl had mentioned going to the bathroom, but that was about 20 minutes ago. Which bathroom was that again?

 _‘Couldn’t have been the one in the dungeons_? _’_ Draco questioned himself as Goyle stared at him expectantly, _‘Could it have?’_

* * *

All Azula had wanted was a break from other students. Was that too much to ask for?

Apparently, it had been, because as Azula entered the bathroom in the dungeons, she was met with the pathetic sound of sobbing. Said sobbing was also met with the sound of hushing.

“It’s okay.” A voice said comfortingly as Azula stepped further into the bathroom. She was then able to make out the silhouette of Moaning Myrtle, crouched over the figure of Hermione Granger. Azula supposed that the crying noises were coming from Granger, “Boys aren’t worth your tears. Believe me, I know.”

Azula frowned to herself. She absolutely _hated_ when people cried, especially if she wasn’t the cause of the suffering. She couldn’t even remember the last time that _she_ cried.

“Hey, you’re that cute boy’s – _Zuko’s_ – little sister, right?” Moaning Myrtle asked as she floated over to Azula. Aside from the Bloody Baron, the only ghosts that Azula had ever encountered were Peeves and Nearly Headless Nick. She was annoyed by the fact that even _ghosts_ found Zuko attractive, “Tell Hermione that she doesn’t need boys.”

As Granger looked up at her, Azula found herself feeling uncomfortable. The other girl had tear tracks all over her face, and more tears were rapidly falling from her dark brown eyes.

“What’s…wrong?” The words felt awkward coming from Azula’s lips and if she was honest, she didn’t even know why she was trying to placate the girl. Something – probably the pitiful look on her face – reminded her of Ty Lee when she was upset.

Granger sniffled, and Azula once again mentally questioned why she was trying to be of assistance.

“Why do you care?” Granger’s voice was small, but Azula heard her loud and clear.

Scowling, Azula began walking, as if to leave the bathroom. Agni _forbid_ she try to help someone ever again.

“Fine. Cry all you want.” Azula sneered, her tone emotionless, “See if I care.”

Before Azula could make it more than five steps towards the door, she felt a tentative grasp on her hand. She didn’t have to turn around to know that it was Granger.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was vulnerable and as Azula finally turned around, pursing her lips at the desolate look Granger was giving her, “Don’t leave.”

Azula let out a sigh. This was _not_ what she signed up for when she came to the bathroom. If her father ever found out…

“I’m not going to ask you again.” Azula brought herself out of her thoughts with her own statement. She attempted to sound harsh, but there was something about the look on Granger’s face that weakened her resolve, _slightly_ , “What is your _problem_?”

Granger’s silence was beginning to wear on Azula’s nerves but before she could say anything, Granger began talking.

“Ron said some…mean things about me.” Granger began, waving her hands frantically at Azula’s incredulous look, “Wait. Hear me out before you judge.”

Azula crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. Judging was _exactly_ what she was about to do, but she refrained from saying a word. As far as she was concerned, Granger better appreciate her moment of kindness.

“It all just sort of built up, you know?” Granger continued, “Everyone here thinks I’m a know-it-all, and I guess that’s kinda true. But everyone here ostracizes me, as if I’m some kind of leper. No one ever wants to talk to me.”

Azula remained silent. She could tell that the girl wasn’t finished.

“And then Ron was talking to Harry and he said…” Granger cut herself off abruptly, her eyes narrowed, “It doesn’t _matter_ what he said, but…I just want people to like me. People in my old school liked me for my intelligence, but no one ever appreciates it here”

Granger paused.

“Do you know what it’s like to try your hardest and _still_ not get _any_ benefit of the doubt for it?”

Azula almost snorted, but her royal upbringing helped her refrain from doing such an unladylike thing in front of someone who was less refined than she was. The first person that came to her mind was her father…not that she would ever share that with _Granger_ of all people. As a matter of fact, she even chastised _herself_ for the thought. Her father had only ever done his best to ensure Azula reached her fullest potential, and mentally villainizing him would do her no good.

“Look, Granger –”

“ _Hermione_.” The other girl emphasized.

Azula sighed. Of course the girl had to make this even more difficult for her when she was already grasping at straws in an attempt to be nice.

“ _Hermione_.” Azula repeated as she continued with her statement, as if she hadn’t been interrupted, “There are always going to be people who hate you because you’re better than them. Look at me, for example. Half of Gryffindor house hates me because they’re all _jealous_ of me.”

“I don’t quite think that’s why…” Hermione stopped talking when she saw Azula’s sharp glance, “Never mind. Please continue.”

“As I was _saying_ ,” Azula said, rolling her eyes at the other girl, “people will always have something negative to say about you. That’s just life. It’s like my father always says – if you can’t beat or join them, just smite them.”

Hemione’s eyes widened at the words of advice.

“I don’t think that that’ll…” Hermione paused, a genuine grin appearing on her features as Azula’s words sunk in, “Thanks, Azula.”

Azula shrugged nonchalantly. She couldn’t understand why Hermione was so giddy about the idea of hurting those who wronged her, noble Gryffindor that she was. She was taken aback when Hermione decided to hug her. She wasn’t well versed in the whole _affection_ thing, so she hesitantly patted the other girl on the back.

“I won’t let people’s words get to me.” Hermione stated firmly as she pulled back from the embrace, “Just like you implied.”

Azula frowned. She was certain that she had said nothing of the sort.

“I didn’t say anything about that.” Azula insisted, “I _said_ –”

“To smite them, I know.” Hermione was smiling now and Azula resisted the urge to scowl, “You helped me in your own way.”

Azula rolled her eyes again and sighed. Some people would never understand her.

“I guess this makes us friends now.” Hermione continued teasingly, “I know you hang out with _Malfoy_ , but I was thinking –”

Azula raised a hand to stop Hermione’s speech.

“I will permit you to say hello to me in the hallways,” Azula stated firmly, her eyes narrowed at Hermione, “and occasionally ask me for advice. But we are _not_ friends. Do I make myself clear?”

Hermione pretended to ponder her words for a minute before nodding.

“Friends it is.”

Azula huffed in annoyance. Why did she even bother?

The sound of heavy footsteps made Azula pause. What in Agni’s name was _that_? She turned to look at Hermione, but the other girl was frozen in fear, her face ashen. She shakily raised her hand and pointed at something behind Azula.

A chill ran down Azula’s spine as she turned around slowly, coming face to face with a large, ugly troll. Azula stepped towards it bravely and, in hindsight, realized that that wasn’t too bright of an idea. The troll released a horrific roar as it swung its arm down, knocking Azula into the wall next to the sink. As her back slammed against the wall, she vaguely registered Moaning Myrtle’s shrieks as she disappeared down one of the toilets. Her vision swam in and out of focus as she blinked blearily.

“Azula!” The voice was Hermione’s, sounding oddly close to her. During one of the rare moments that Azula was able to focus, she realized that Hermione was crouched down under one of the sinks, hovering over Azula protectively.

Azula blinked hard several times, trying to get over the dizzying feeling that she was experiencing. From the vibrations on the ground, Azula reasoned that the troll was getting even closer to them.

“OI!” Azula vaguely registered Potter’s voice over the ringing in her ears, “Over here!”

Azula looked up at the sound of Hermione’s gasp, registering that Potter was trying to take on the troll, Weasley by his side. Weasley was throwing random pieces of debris at the troll, while Potter was clinging for dear life on the troll’s neck, jabbing his wand harshly into the troll’s nose.

With a deafening sneeze, the troll staggered backwards, knocking Potter (and his now slime covered wand) off of him. With an angry scowl on her face, Azula used to wall to get to her feet, struggling against the sharp pain in her back. There was _no way_ she was going to let Potter and Weasley be her saviors.

“Get back down here!” she heard Hermione hissed to her, but she refused to adhere, “You’re injured!”

Azula ignored Hermione’s protests and staggered over to the troll. As the troll’s attention was drawn to her, Azula drew her arms in wide circles, feeling the electricity gather in her fingertips. The troll, despite the lightning display, advanced on her, nose dripping with slimy mucus from Potter’s provocation. With a sharp thrust of her fingers, Azula let the lightning flow through her fingertips and into the chest of the troll. The troll, partially stunned, raised a hand – the one that wasn’t holding its club – to his chest, feeling the small hole in its chest. For a long while, the troll just stood there, poking at its fresh wound.

“Blimey, Ryland.” Weasley breathed, staring at Azula in awe, “What’d you do?”

Azula rolled her eyes. She had absolutely no desire to explain the intricacies of firebending – or lightning bending for that matter – to him. Just as she was about to tell him so, the troll started leaning dangerously towards her before ultimately toppling forward.

“Azula!”

Azula was unable to register which Gryffindor was yelling her name in concern. All she was aware of was the fact that a troll was about to fall on her and due to her injuries, she couldn’t move away fast enough. Bracing her arms above her head, she concentrated on releasing as much fire above her head as she could.

In a gory display, the troll let out a loud roar before it was silent, a gaping hole in its body as it fell over Azula. Luckily for her, the hole was located in an area large enough for the girl to fit through, preventing what would have been an inevitable, and utterly embarrassing, death.

Stoically, Azula stood up in all her eleven-year-old glory, covered head to toe in troll guts as she attempted to climb over the hole she had made in the troll. Weasley and Potter attempted to help her but, pridefully, she brushed them aside. She turned to Hermione, her vision swimming dangerously as she met the other girl’s wide-eyed gaze.

“You’re welcome.” Azula slurred, her eyes drifting closed as the dizziness became too much for her.

Her vision soon faded to black.

* * *

In Zuko’s almost three short years at Hogwarts, nothing was as eventful as when a troll was unleashed in the dungeons. This was saying something, as he had been friends with Fred and George Weasley almost as long. Granted, despite all the chaos, Zuko figured that it was better than anything his father could do to him.

“Did you hear that the troll was by the Slytherin dungeons?” Zuko heard the Gryffindor quidditch captain, Oliver Wood, ask Angelina Johnson, “Pretty ironic if you ask me.”

At hearing those words, Zuko froze. As much as he didn’t want to acknowledge it, his thoughts took a panicked turn.

 _Azula_ was a Slytherin. _Azula_ resided in the Slytherin dungeons, and _Azula_ was his _sister_. He felt obligated to feel at least some concern for her wellbeing.

At his own thoughts, Zuko snorted to himself. Feel something for someone who wouldn’t hesitate to sabotage him if it meant success for her? Why bother?

_She is your family, Prince Zuko. You must lead by example. Be compassionate._

The voice in Zuko’s head belonged to his Uncle Iroh, the man who had always been more of a father figure to him than his own father. With a heavy sigh, Zuko resigned himself to finding out about his sister.

As fate would have it, Percy Weasley, one of Gryffindor’s prefects, came to Zuko. His face was solemn and Zuko, by nature, thought the worst.

“Your sister is in the hospital wing.” Percy’s voice was quiet, as if he didn’t want to startle Zuko.

Zuko was fairly certain that Percy was saying more words to him as he escorted him to the hospital wing, but Zuko’s thoughts were the center of his attention. Despite not getting along with his sister, he still wanted her to be alright.

As he entered the hospital wing, his gaze immediately rested on his sister’s prone form resting on one of the cots. Pushing past Percy, he moved over to her bed, noticing Hermione, Ron, and Harry sitting in chairs near the bed.

“You’re sister’s bloody wicked.” Ron told Zuko, his tone slightly shaken as he shook his head, “At this point, I’m trying to figure out if that’s always a bad thing.”

Harry was notably silent as he nodded in agreement. Hermione, on the other hand, looked immensely guilty.

“If only I’d had a thicker skin, she wouldn’t have come into the bathroom and –” Hermione started before Harry cut her off.

“It’s not your fault, ’Mione.” He said gently, giving Ron a meaningful look. What that look was about, Zuko didn’t know, “We’re both sorry.”

Hermione opened her mouth to say something else before a small cough brought all of their attentions to Azula. She continued coughing for a few seconds before sitting up abruptly, wincing as her hand grasped one of her sides.

“It’ll take a while for the skele-gro to take effect.” Hermione stated knowledgeably, meeting Azula’s gaze fondly, “That troll broke a few of your ribs, and was dangerously close to snapping your spine. You were very lucky.”

Zuko couldn’t help the jealousy that shrouded his senses at Hermione’s last statement. _Lucky_. Azula was always… _lucky_ , and even at Hogwarts, Zuko couldn’t get away from that sentiment.

Azula scowled at this, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned into the pillows that had been propped behind her. Zuko, though jealous, felt great relief at his sister’s wellbeing, hugged her. Predictably, Azula didn’t take lightly to this.

“Get _off_ of me, Zuko!” Azula yelled, roughly shoving at her older brother, who wouldn’t let her go, “I’m not claiming you as a brother!”

Despite Azula’s harsh words, Zuko pulled back smiling. He caught himself soon enough and replaced his smile with a gruff look.

“I’m glad you’re not dead.”

At hearing Zuko’s words, Azula rolled her eyes, but said nothing. Ron looked back and forth between the two siblings, so fast that it was surprising that he didn’t get whiplash as a result.

“You two are bloody _weird_.” He muttered to himself, ignoring Harry’s shove in his ribs.

There was a brief, almost amicable, silence between all parties before the door to the hospital wing opened with a dull bang, revealing the displeased form of Draco Malfoy. Malfoy, aside from his frown, appeared expressionless as he approached the group. He sneered up at Zuko and the other Gryffindors, but ultimately said nothing to them as his gaze swept over to Azula.

“You’re alive.” Was what he chose to say.

Azula raised an eyebrow at the statement and Zuko resisted the urge to laugh at how ridiculous this whole situation was. He could understand, in part, why Azula was incredulous at Malfoy’s words. She was, if nothing else, stubborn, and certainly wouldn’t face her peril to the likes of a gargantuan troll.

“Obviously.” She sneered harshly.

The tense air between Malfoy and Azula got even tenser until finally, Malfoy allowed a small smile – almost imperceptible to the naked eye – to show on his face. He turned around and walked back the way he came, pausing to say a single word before striding out of the hospital wing.

“Good.”

Zuko blinked rapidly at the blond boy as he walked out of sight before returning his gaze to his little sister. Azula had an unreadable expression on her face as she stared at the space where Malfoy once was. She turned to Zuko and narrowed her eyes.

“Not a _word_ of this to Uncle Fuddy Duddy, or I _will_ give you a matching scar.” Azula told him, her tone serious but her eyes amused, confusing Zuko more than most things regarding his sister, “Understand?”

Zuko felt the corners of his lips rise for reasons unknown to him. He could feel the stares of the younger Gryffindors as he answered his sister.

“Whatever you say, Azula.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update will be on Monday. Thanks to everyone for reading!


	7. Differences Aside

After the whole fiasco with the troll in the dungeons, the remaining time until Christmas was pretty tame. Of course, Draco was disappointed that Gryffindor won the first quidditch match of the year. Potter – to everyone’s surprise – had lived through his broom’s malfunctioning, even as the broom took a nosedive with him on it, catapulting him to the ground. It was even more horrendous when Potter had the _audacity_ to cough up the golden snitch, thus winning the match for Gryffindor. In Draco’s opinion, that should’ve been an automatic foul. Snitches were meant to be _caught_ , not eaten.

With all of that aside, Draco was excited to finally be going home for Christmas. He had admittedly missed his mother, and he was eager to tell his father of the developments with his platonic relationship with Azula Ryland. Such good news was something that ought to be shared in person, not via owl.

By the time he was to leave for home, Draco found himself sharing his good fortune with Azula as she walked with him towards the Great Hall. He hadn’t expected her to see him off, but then again, there was a lot he didn’t expect her to do that she did anyway.

“Mother always sends me sweets before Christmas.” Draco told her, displaying a box of the finest wizarding treats from Spain – _Cielo Dulce_ , “She gets them from all over the world, because she’s always taking trips.”

Azula regarded the box curiously. She appeared to be internally debating something, her eyebrows knitted, before her face became blank once more.

“I don’t eat candy.” she settled on nonchalantly.

Draco, for the most part, masked his surprise, his raised eyebrow the only indication of his shock.

 _Who didn’t eat candy_?

Granted, Draco didn’t indulge himself in the luxury often; candy _was_ unhealthy after all, but it was every person’s right – every _decent_ person’s right – to have candy at least sometimes.

Seemingly reading his thoughts, Azula rolled her eyes. Her predictably haughty expression was in place, and her arms were firmly crossed across her chest, making her appear even more demeaning than usual.

“It isn’t good for you.” Azula clarified, as if the explanation was one that everyone ought to immediately become acquainted with, “Candy makes you fat, and then you can’t train efficiently.”

The incredulous look on Draco’s face didn’t change. _Train_?

Once again, Azula read his mind.

“Never mind that.” Azula seemed almost bored by having to explain what she meant. Draco didn’t appreciate being made to feel stupid, but he held his tongue, “My Uncle, _Prince Iroh_ , let himself go after his son, Lu Ten, was killed in battle. Candy and everything. He was never the same. It was truly a disgrace, if you ask me.”

Draco blinked. He hadn’t known that Azula had a cousin who had died in war. He didn’t even know that her family had direct military connections. He really had to a better job keeping up with wizarding families outside of Britain.

“I’m…” Draco started awkwardly, attempting to give her his condolences before she held up a hand, stopping him in his tracks.

“It was a long time ago.” Azula’s tone was clipped, and Draco knew to let the subject go. It was obvious that she didn’t want his kindness, so he tried to change the subject to a lighter one.

“So…what’re you going to do over break?” Draco internally cursed himself for his hesitation. He knew better than that. He was a _Malfoy_ for Merlin’s sake.

Azula pursed her lips in distaste before an almost inaudible sigh left her lips.

“I’ll be here.” she stated, her monotone contradicting the displeased look that was previously on her lips, “Training. Studying. Bothering Zuzu. The usual.”

At hearing this, Draco frowned.

_She wasn’t going to spend Christmas with her family?_

To be fair, Malfoy family holidays always consisted of his father working at the Ministry and his mother doing her best to keep Draco entertained so he wouldn’t miss his father, but at least they _saw_ each other. He couldn’t imagine how it would feel to spend Christmas alone at Hogwarts.

“But _why_?” Draco couldn’t stop himself from asking.

Azula gave him a sharp look, silently telling him to drop the subject, but Draco held strong, returning her gaze with a stern one of his own. His resolve yielded the desirable effect, and she began to explain.

“It’s none of your _concern_ ,” Azula paused, “but my father wants me here.”

Draco felt a strange feeling in the bottom of his stomach, one that made him uncomfortable. Could that be _pity_? The emotion was so foreign to him that when he felt it, he couldn’t make sense of it. He couldn’t truly say that he had ever _pitied_ anyone before, but that was the only word that he could come up with to describe what he was feeling.

“Stop giving me that look.” Azula scowled, “You look like a wounded mongoose-lion.”

_What was a mongoose-lion?_

“Goodbye Malfoy.” Azula abruptly turned on her heel and walked away once they had reached the Great Hall.

Draco took this as Azula’s way of wishing him a good holiday. He watched her retreat for a few moments, raising a brow when he saw Granger bump into her. Instead of immediately shoving past her, Azula appeared to be humoring the mudblood. He couldn’t see Azula’s facial expressions, but from the upset glances Granger was giving her, it couldn’t be anything good.

In typical Azula fashion, the latter stormed off, leaving Granger alone to her misery. Had Draco been a nicer person, he probably would’ve asked her what was wrong. Ask her what her conversation with Azula entailed.

Still, Granger was a _mudblood_ , and he couldn’t show any type of concern for her, no matter what the icy feeling in his chest told him.

With a roll of his eyes, Draco sought to forget about his strange accomplice and Granger for the rest of the day, or at least until he was able to tell his father about it all.

* * *

“Welcome home, Draco.” His mother greeted him once he stepped foot in Malfoy Manor. His father had apparated them just outside of Malfoy Manor and they had just gone inside after admiring the grounds in silence for a bit, “How was Hogwarts?”

Draco looked around to see if his father was listening. He had wanted to tell his parents about his encounters with Azula and Potter at the same time. As fate would have it, Lucius had retreated to his study soon after escorting Draco inside. Worrying his lip between his teeth, Draco tried not to let his newfound sulkiness show on his face as he turned to his mother.

He should’ve been used to his father’s absentee behavior by now, after all.

“You can tell your father about it later, darling. No need to fret, my love.” Narcissa had always been able to read Draco like an open book. How she did it, Draco had never been able to figure out, “You can tell me about it now, if you’d like.”

“Harry Potter is in my year.” Draco started with, a feeling of ire rising in his chest at the thought of the green-eyed boy, “He think he’s _so_ cool because he can play Quidditch as a first year, and _everybody_ knows his name. I tried to offer him my guidance, but he rejec…had _other_ inclinations. I figured that if I befriended him, father would be proud.”

At this, Narcissa raised an eyebrow.

“Proud that you befriended a _Gryffindor_?” Narcissa queried curiously, “He’s the son of Lily and James Potter. How could he be anything _other_ than a Gryffindor?”

Gaping freely at his mother, an unflattering blush rose high on Draco’s cheeks.

“How was _I_ supposed to know he wouldn’t be a Slytherin?” he complained, “He defeated the Dark Lord as a baby. That _had_ to be dark magic.”

Narcissa pursed her lips in thought. It appeared as if she was remembering something, but decided not to voice her thoughts.

“There is much about magic that you don’t understand.” Narcissa said knowingly, her eyes slightly narrowed, “But enough of that. Tell me more about Hogwarts.”

Draco wanted to continue the current topic, but thought better of it.

“Did you know that Blaise’s cousin, Malia, is dating a Hufflepuff girl?” Draco suddenly found himself wanting to keep away from the topic of Azula for as long as possible. He didn’t know why, but he felt as if his mother would tease him about it, “That’s horrid!”

“Now Draco.” Narcissa fixed him with a stern glance, “It’s none of your business what two women…”

“Not that!” Draco exclaimed. The idea that he could be that intolerant disturbed him. He hated _muggles_ , _mudbloods_ , and _blood traitors_. What anyone else did was their own business, “She’s a _Slytherin_ dating a _Hufflepuff_. A _Hufflepuff_!”

The corners of Narcissa’s lips tugged upwards, as if she was trying very hard not to laugh. As Draco looked at her indignantly, a full-blown smile emerged on her face.

“Being with a Hufflepuff isn’t ideal, per se,” she murmured, “but it’s not the worst thing that she could do.”

Draco stared at his mother as if she had grown a second head, and after that second head had grown, a third popped out of nowhere. When had she become so… _liberal_?

“You’ve grown far too serious, my love.” Narcissa pressed a small kiss to Draco’s forehead, smoothing his hair back a little, “Now why don’t you sit down with me for lunch? Get all of this _trivial_ business off of your mind for a bit.”

Draco wanted to argue with her – tell her that his concerns were _not trivial_ – but then he saw the look on her face. Her features had softened, and her eyes sparkled with the glint that she reserved for him, her only son. If there was anyone in this world whose happiness he cared about, it was his mother’s.

With an inaudible sigh, Draco hooked an arm around his mother’s shoulders and allowed her to lead them to the courtyard where they’d be eating.

“Now tell me about this Azula Ryland girl that Priscilla Parkinson has been telling me about.” Draco didn’t like the twitch in his mother’s lips as she finished her statement. She was wearing the look on her face that denoted how amused she was, and knowing her, Draco wouldn’t be getting an explanation for the look any time soon.

* * *

_How dare_ Hermione reject her offer to spend Christmas at Hogwarts with her!

After saving her life all those months ago, Azula thought that the muggleborn witch would be a little more grateful to her, more willing to repay her debt as soon as possible. Evidently, she’d been wrong, as showcased when the other girl insisted that she wanted to spend the holidays with her _parents_. Still, she couldn’t expect the girl to have a firm sense of loyalty – she wasn’t from the _Fire Nation_ , after all.

Azula had always considered herself to be a fairly solitary person, and such a betrayal from someone who considered her a friend would not hurt her feelings. It was this same individualistic persona that provided her the strength necessary to not feel offended when her father sent her the letter telling her that she was to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas break.

‘ _Princess Azula,_ ’ the letter had read, ‘ _Your presence will not be required in the palace for the duration of your winter vacation from Hogwarts. You will return to the Fire Nation once your first year at Hogwarts has terminated. – Fire Lord Ozai_ ’

The letter was short, abrupt, and had no sense of emotion in it whatsoever. Regardless of that fact, Azula found herself trying to pour meaning into the letter. Perhaps, her father didn’t need her in the Fire Nation because he wanted her to scope out Hogwarts some more. Maybe, he was aware of the fact that Zuko was here and wanted Azula to keep an eye on him. Maybe…

“Azula.”

Azula hadn’t realized that she was unmoving in the middle of the corridor, letter tightly grasped in her hand, until the voice brought her out of her musings. Gravelly tone, rough and abrupt manner of addressing her.

She knew that voice _anywhere_.

_Zuko_

“What do you want, Zuzu?” Azula’s voice was sharp as she levelled a glare at her older brother. He was one of the last people she ever needed to see when she wanted solitude.

The look on Zuko’s face was one of pity as he glanced back and forth between the slightly crushed letter and Azula’s face.

“That’s from dad, isn’t it?” Zuko asked gently, “He wants you to stay here for winter break, doesn’t he?”

Azula remained silent. She didn’t owe Zuko any answers. Of course, Zuko never knew when to back off, and took a step closer to her. He began to reach for her but then – as if he had thought better of it – retracted his hand.

“If you want –” Zuko began before Azula cut him off.

“I don’t need your worthless _pity_ , Zuko.” Azula snapped harshly before turning on her heel and storming off to the Slytherin Dungeons. Zuko didn’t follow after her.

Who was _Zuko_ to try and offer her happiness? He was exiled, and rightfully so. Azula didn’t need traitors like him in her life.

_So why did Azula have such a heavy feeling in her chest?_

* * *

Truth be told, she was beginning to reconsider shutting Zuko down as abruptly as she had when she returned to the Slytherin dormitory and found an unknown girl lounging in her bed.

“What do you think you’re doing laying in my bed?” Azula hissed.

The girl, instead of hurriedly moving out of the bed and begging for forgiveness, merely stretched slowly before moving into a sitting position.

“Sorry.” The girl shrugged, steadily getting to her feet, “My sister said she had the four-poster by the window. Didn’t know she meant the other window.”

Without another word, the girl flopped onto the other bed – Daphne Greengrass’ bed.

“You’re Astoria Greengrass.” Azula didn’t pose it as a question, “Daphne’s younger sister and Malfoy’s closest ally.”

Astoria snorted, her nonchalant manner grating on Azula’s.

“You don’t have to be so formal about it.” Astoria grinned, “You can just call me Astoria.”

Astoria paused.

“You probably want to know why I’m here.” she clarified, “My father said I could spend winter break at Hogwarts to get a feel for it before I attend next year. Daph’s on vacation with Pansy Parkinson, so it’s just me here.”

Azula took a moment to ponder her options. She _could_ always take Zuko up on his offer and bother him for the rest of Christmas break. That way, she could keep an eye on him and simultaneously irk him. Then again, keeping Astoria around could prove interesting for getting information on Malfoy…

“So tell me, Astoria, was it?” Azula gave the younger girl a saccharine smile, “How long have you known Malfoy?”

* * *

“Good morning, darling.” Narcissa greeted her only son as he descended the elegant staircase that led from the upstairs into the dining area, “You can open your presents after breakfast.”

Draco nodded groggily and seated himself at the table. Though he was only eleven, Christmas no longer had the same thrill that it did for him when he was younger. Every year, he wanted the same thing, but could never attain it – his father at home for Christmas day. His mother insists that his father cares deeply for him, despite his long hours at the Ministry, but sometimes, Draco wished that family came before work.

He hardly noticed that he was going through the motions of eating his food until his mother slipped a parcel into his lap. The shape was unmistakable.

“A new broomstick?” Draco was almost embarrassed at the giddiness of his tone, “I thought you said that I couldn’t have a new one until I’d taken full responsibility for breaking the last one.”

A gentle smile touched Narcissa’s lips.

“I want you to enjoy your childhood while you still have it.” she crooned gently, brushing a few strands of Draco’s hair out of his eyes. He really needed a haircut soon. “Your father also wanted me to give you this.”

She passed him a note, which Draco quickly scanned over:

_Draco,_

_My sincerest apologies for not being able to celebrate Christmas with you and your mother. You know that keeping appearances is important, so I must continue to seek promotions at the Ministry._

_I hope you enjoy the broomstick and if you keep up your stellar marks in school, there may just be a spot for you on the Slytherin quidditch team next year._

_Your father,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

Draco could tell that his father was in a rush as he wrote the note, as his usually neat cursive was reduced to a sloppy scrawl. Still, Draco appreciated the effort.

Taking note of the genuine smile on Draco’s face, Narcissa squeezed one of Draco’s hands gently.

“Merry Christmas, Draco.”

* * *

“Azula, wake up!” a shrill yell broke Azula out of a particularly pleasant dream about Zuko being banished from the Fire Nation. She had just gotten to the part when her father demanded that Zuko stand up and fight him when she was rudely interrupted from her dream.

The smile that had been on Azula’s face as a result of the dream, by now, morphed into a scowl.

“ _What_ … _is_ … _it_?” Azula’s words, though clouded by grogginess, were sharp enough to damage the hull of a first-class Fire Nation war ship. Anyone in their right mind would’ve cowered, apologized, and left Azula to her devices.

It was quickly dawning on Azula that Astoria Greengrass was not in her right mind.

“It’s _Christmas_ , Azula!” Astoria’s loud tone had not changed, and she was now shaking the disgruntled Fire Nation princess, “Don’t you _care_ about _Christmas_?”

Azula gave Astoria her most sarcastic grin.

“ _No_.”

With that, Azula rested her head on her pillow once more, determined to get two more hours of sleep before her 4am ritualistic firebending training.

As Azula’s was beginning to drift off, the covers were viciously yanked away from her, being replaced with a dowsing of ice cold water. Steaming – literally and figuratively – Azula jumped out of bed, pulling Astoria to her by the lapels of her night shirt.

“Blimey, you’re actually _really_ smoking hot.” Astoria said in awe, completely ignoring the fact that Azula wanted to flay her alive, “I didn’t know people actually –”

“Shut… _up_!” Azula hissed, her tone a deadly calm as she fought the urge to throttle the girl within her grasp, “Just… _shut up_.”

Azula expected many things to happen following her declarative outburst. She expected that Astoria would apologize and leave her to go to bed. She expected that Astoria wouldn’t bother her again until a _decent_ hour of the night, not _2am_.

What she _didn’t_ expect, however, was for tears to gather in Astoria’s hazel eyes.

_Crap!_

“I just wanted to share Christmas with you.” Astoria’s tone wavered as she fought valiantly to keep her tears at bay, “You’re the only friend I have so far, and I know that Draco’ll just pretend he doesn’t know me when the new school year begins.”

Astoria paused to sniffle, and Azula could strangle _herself_ for the deep pang of guilt in her stomach.

“I just wanted you to like me.”

Azula let go of Astoria and watched as the other girl sat down pathetically on the bed, wiping furiously at her eyes. What was it with the girls in this school acting like _Ty Lee_ with the waterworks?

_Was this just a normal teenage girl thing?_

“Look, Astoria. I didn’t mean to, er, make you cry.” Azula cursed herself for stuttering, “It’s just – we don’t really _do_ Christmas in the Fire Nation.” Azula stopped to contemplate her words, “Or, at least, we don’t back in Caldera.”

Astoria looked up at Azula, tears still clinging to her eyelashes.

“Caldera?”

“Capital of the Fire Nation.” Azula answered nonchalantly, “I’m not really used to non-patriotic holidays.”

At Astoria’s unwavering pitiful expression, Azula paused and pinched the bridge of her nose, already feeling a headache come on at what her next words were going to be. It _really_ was too early in the morning for this drama.

“But, if you’re willing to share your tradition with me, I guess it can’t be that bad.”

The tears disappeared from Astoria’s eyes immediately, so fast that Azula was surprised it didn’t give her whiplash. The ecstatic grin on the younger girl’s face was one of a person who had gotten their way. A cold chill ran down Azula’s back as she came to an unsettling realization – _she was being manipulated_.

“Great.” Astoria was already pulling Azula out of the dormitory, “We have lots to do today.”

“Wait.” Azula tried desperately, “I change my –”

“Too late!”

With that, Azula resigned herself to spending Christmas Day with Astoria Greengrass, the only person she’d met thus far who was as good at manipulating others as she was. Maybe their budding friendship would be a good thing…

* * *

“A peach?” Azula asked incredulously, “You’re telling me to _tickle_ a painting of a _peach_?”

Astoria only nodded in response, and Azula was regretting ever coming out on this post-midnight excursion with the younger girl.

“Don’t you trust me, Azula?”

Azula scoffed.

“I trust no one but myself and my father.” And those were the truest words to ever leave Azula’s mouth.

Astoria rolled her eyes and took Azula’s hand in her own, extending one of Azula’s fingers to caress the peach painting. Azula was barely able to refrain from shuddering at the creepy sensation of rubbing her finger against a wall. Before Azula could snatch her finger away, the chunk of wall decorated by the peach swung backwards, revealing a kitchen-like setting. Two house elves were busying themselves doing _Agni knows what_ , but that wasn’t what Azula focused on.

“What’re you doing here?” Zuko’s voice was stern as he stood up from a table in the center of the room. He was surrounded by the Weasley twins, Potter, and Ron Weasley.

Azula masked her shock with a scowl. Predictably, Zuko took a small step backwards.

“Aren’t you getting a little tired of asking me that, Zuzu?”

Sensing that tensions had risen in the room, Astoria decided to play mediator.

“So _you’re_ Zuko?” Astoria nodded in understanding, “It all makes sense now. Can’t the two of you put aside your sibling rivalry for _one_ day? I mean, why do you two even hate each other in the first place?” 

Azula snorted in disdain.

“He’s weak.”

Zuko’s scowl matched hers now.

“She’s a bully.”

“He fails at everything.”

“She thinks she’s perfect.”

“I _am_ perfect, dum dum.” Azula sniffed, “He’s always complaining.”

“She’s always trying to make my life miserable.”

“ _Please_!” Azula laughed cruelly, “Your life is miserable enough without my help.”

“Hey!”

“He’s a sniveling mama’s boy.”

“And she’s a cruel daddy’s girl.” Zuko spat, as if it were the worst insult he could think of.

His efforts didn’t have the desired effect on his sister, as Azula let loose a smug smirk.

“I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.” Azula mocked sweetly, clasping her hands together over her chest in an attempt to reflect innocence, “Maybe you _do_ have some common sense after all, Zuzu.”

Zuko opened his mouth to refute her, but Astoria was quick to put her hand over his mouth, grimacing as she did so.

“I regret asking.” she murmured, “But look, we’re all going to get along today because it’s Christmas.”

Potter remained silent while his Weasley crony looked as if he’d swallow a whole plate full of sea prunes.

“But, she’s a _Slytherin_.” he complained, “They’re evil.”

Astoria shrugged.

“Guess I’m evil too then.” she said indifferently, “I plan on becoming a Slytherin next year and I was really hoping we wouldn’t have to be enemies, considering the fact that I don’t buy into all this Slytherin pureblood mania.”

The silence that descended upon the kitchen’s inhabitants was only broken by the occasional murmurings of the worker elves. Zuko was the first to speak again.

“We can put aside our… _differences_ only for this break.” he settled on, “After this, I go right back to considering my sister an adversary.”

Azula let out a deep breath that caused one of her bangs to rise.

“Woe is me, to have such an infantile adversary.” She stuck out her hand before Zuko could protest, “Consider this my one and only leniency Zuko.”

Zuko slowly – and reluctantly – shook her hand.

“Fine.”

Astoria rolled her eyes.

“You two are _so_ weird,” she murmured, “but Merry Christmas everyone!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates from now on (unless explicitly stated otherwise in an author's note) will be on Mondays and Fridays.


	8. Dragons and Unicorns

In hindsight, eavesdropping on a conversation between Potter and his cronies wasn’t the smartest idea. It was evident to Draco that they were starved for attention, but that didn’t prevent him from taking them at face value about Hagrid and his supposed dragon. A few months after Christmas, Draco decided to go on a midnight stroll to confront Hogwarts’ groundskeeper about his forbidden pet, determined to unnerve the half-giant.

“You sure you know what you’re doing, Draco?” Crabbe had asked him closet to midnight, just as he was about to leave the dormitory, backed up by Goyle’s nodding.

Draco only rolled his eyes. He certainly didn’t keep Crabbe and Goyle around for the brainpower. They ought to have known better than to question his judgment. Nevertheless, he placated them with a sigh.

“I’m not stupid, Crabbe.” Draco murmured, voice annoyed at having his intentions questioned, “I heard Potter and his goons talking about dragons, and I need to know what they’re going on about.”

The answer seemed to satisfy the duo, as they said nothing more. Now that he had no more questions to worry about, Draco made his way downstairs to the common room. Noticing that no one was there, he strolled over to the common room entrance, fully prepared to deal with the Bloody Baron’s meddling when he heard a voice call out to him.

“What are you up to, Malfoy?”

With a wince, Draco turned around to face the source of the voice. Azula Ryland, golden eyes flickering in the low firelight, stood a few feet away from him, her arms crossed impatiently. When she had arrived, Draco didn’t know, but he didn’t appreciate being questioned, not even by someone he was trying to make into a great ally.

“It’s none of your concern.” Draco used his most intimidating tone, hoping that it would be enough to dissuade the usually stubborn girl from intervening in his plans.

Of course, his attempt at intimidation had no effect on the girl, who chose to roll her eyes. As a matter of fact, she appeared to be more amused than frightened. She casually sat down on the arm of one of the common room’s couches, looking towards the flames. At her gaze, the flames seemed to increase in height, shifting to a slightly blue hue before returning to normal. She turned to face him once more.

“You’re going to do something really stupid, aren’t you?” Azula mocked, a slender eyebrow raised. Draco bit his lip to refrain from answering. He didn’t want her to know the effect she had, “Let me guess. Something to do with Potter and his posse, hm?”

Sensing no advantage in keeping Azula in the dark, Draco sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“They said Hagrid has a dragon somewhere on the grounds.” Draco admitted, watching as a look of surprise flashed across Azula’s face before disappearing quickly, “I’m trying to get to the bottom of that.”

Of all the reactions that Azula could’ve had, Draco wasn’t expecting for her to scowl at him. He didn’t understand what was so upsetting about what he’d said.

“There _are_ no dragons.” Azula spat, the disdain in her voice seemingly emphasized by the way the fire crackled, “My uncle killed the last one.”

Draco couldn’t help himself. He started to laugh, clutching his sides due to the force of his laughter. Her _uncle_ , killing the _last_ dragon in existence? That had to be the most ridiculous thing Draco had ever head, and that’s saying something, considering the fact that he spent a majority of his time around Crabbe and Goyle. The unamused look on Azula’s face sobered him quickly.

“Look, believe what you want, Ryland.” Draco shrugged, “I don’t really care. But you’re not going to stop me from what I’m gonna do.”

Azula let out a long, deep sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose as she did so. Something in the action reminded Draco of his mother when he’d done something foolish. He decided to put that thought in the back of his mind.

“Fine.” Azula hissed, stalking to the common room entrance faster than Draco could blink, “Let’s go.”

Draco didn’t understand her sudden change of heart and called her out on it.

“Does this make us friends, Ryland?”

Azula didn’t turn back, calling over her shoulder, “Not on your life, Malfoy.”

Smirking, Draco followed her out of the common room.

* * *

_Detention_. Azula had never received a detention in her entire life. Not to say that she was a teacher’s favorite (Agni knows she had her fair share of disruptions when she was still at the Academy in the Fire Nation), but she had never _ever_ been punished in school. Her father would _kill_ her for this. McGonagall’s words echoed in her mind:

“How _dare_ the both of you sneak out after hours!” McGonagall had fumed, enunciating her words with a twist on Malfoy’s ear, “The gall of you both. _Detention_! And twenty points _each_ from Slytherin.”

How she managed to stay composed in such a situation, Azula would never know, but as Draco approached her in the common room a few days later, ready to serve detention, Azula scowled darkly at him.

“This is all your fault, Malfoy.” Azula whispered furiously to him as they walked out of the common room, blatantly ignoring a gaping Crabbe and Goyle, who had wandered downstairs after their leader, “If you hadn’t told me about some Agni-forsaken _dragon_ –”

“No one told you to follow me in the first place.” Draco retorted heatedly, eyes narrowed in annoyance, “With your inane ramblings about your uncle killing the last dragon.”

Azula’s hands balled into fists, her ire evident through her clenched jaw. She didn’t appreciate being made to look like a fool. The torches that hung high on the walls of the dimly lit dungeon corridor blazed to life, azure flames dangerously flickering about in the air. Inhaling sharply through her nose, Azula mentally counted to five, exhaling slowly with her attempt.

_1, 2, 3…_

“Aren’t you going to say something, Ryland?” Draco huffed, “That’s right – you _can’t_.”

At least, she _tried_ to count to five. The flames around them grew higher and higher, seemingly endless as Azula stopped in the middle of the corridor. Draco, as if suddenly realizing that the blazing of the flames wasn’t characteristic, stopped, turning around to face her once he saw that she had stopped walking. His eyes flickered with some emotion – _fear? Concern?_ Azula didn’t know what to characterize it as, but she found that she didn’t really care.

“Azula?” Draco’s voice was soft as he called out to her.

Azula had her eyes closed, willing a pleasant image to come to mind, preferably one that would prevent her from committing her first murder. A mental image of Zuko getting his scar came to mind, bringing a serene smile to Azula’s face as she recalled his screams of agony, her Uncle Iroh turning away in sorrow. Slowly, she opened her eyes once more, her face less tense.

Ignoring Draco’s questioning look, she began walking again, the once vibrant blue flames dimming to a dull, lazing orange. She said nothing, leaving only the sounds of her shoes tapping against the marble floors and Draco’s resounding footsteps to echo in the otherwise quiet corridor.

* * *

Just his luck, Draco was stuck in the forest looking for a bloody unicorn. There were at least a million other things he could be doing with his time, as opposed to looking for a creature he knew (and _cared_ ) nothing about.

“I’m not going in that forest.” Draco had protested, cursing himself for the waver in his voice, “I could get killed.”

A snort from next to him reminded him of Azula’s presence.

“Coward.” Azula said none too quietly, crossing her arms with a deeply unimpressed and judgmental look, “Aren’t _true_ Slytherins supposed to thrive in darkness?”

Heat rushed to Draco’s face, more so out of irritation than embarrassment. He was grateful that the moonlight was dim enough that his reddened cheeks couldn’t be seen. He didn’t miss the nervous laugh that Longbottom, who also had detention, let out. He’d be sure to get him back for that before the night ended.

Before he could properly retort, Hagrid interrupted.

“There’ll be time for yer jestin’ later.” Hagrid scolded, “Harry, Hermione – yer with me. Malfoy, Ryland, Neville, yer with Fang. He’s a bit of a coward, but nothing ought teh bother yeh if you got him around.”

Without another word, Hagrid took off, bringing two of the Golden Trio with him.

“Are you two coming or what?” Azula asked impatiently, leading the way with a steady blue flame in hand, “I’d rather bond with my brother than be out here any longer than I need to.”

Longbottom was quick to follow, deciding that the fire in Azula’s hand burned brighter than the light from the lamp he held. Draco followed at a slower pace, observing Azula’s fire carefully. He wasn’t aware of any spell that could allow one to become pyrokinetic.

“What spell is that?” Draco gave into his curiosity, deciding that getting an answer to his question outweighed the risk of him looking foolish in her eyes.

Azula paused, Longbottom almost walking straight into her. She fixed him with a glance filled with confusion, as if she genuinely couldn’t understand why he was asking her such a question.

“This,” Azula raised her hand, the flame moving fluidly with her, “is not a spell.”

With that, she turned around and kept walking, following the shiny trail of unicorn blood, seen clearly in the light of Azula’s fire. Having little choice and not wanting to risk being left alone in the forest, Draco followed.

* * *

A fit of boredom and a prank on Longbottom later, Draco found himself in a group with Fang, Potter, and Azula. Had he known that he would get stuck with Potter, would he have still scared Longbottom? _Of course he would have_ , but the point still remained: this detention couldn’t get any worse.

“Look, there’s a trail over there.” Potter was saying, pointing to a silvery trail in front of them, “The sooner we follow it, the sooner this can be over.”

“Fine.” Azula sneered haughtily, following Potter’s lead, “But my cooperation ends after this detention. Don’t be disillusioned into thinking otherwise.”

In the faint light of Azula’s now dimmer flame, Draco could see Potter roll his eyes.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” The Gryffindor muttered under his breath.

For almost an hour, the trio (plus Fang) surveyed the forest, avidly searching for the source of the unicorn blood. After a while, the slim trail of blood increased, growing in size until finally, Potter stopped in his tracks.

“There.” Potter held out his hand to stop Draco from advancing.

Azula, on the other hand, kept walking, bending down to poke at a rather large, white figure on the ground. She nodded to herself, walking back towards the two boys.

“It’s dead.” Azula confirmed.

With an increase in concentration, Draco realized that the figure was a fallen unicorn. He begrudgingly admitted to himself that the slain animal was beautiful, despite its oddly bent legs and disheveled mane. Still, he stayed where he was, ready to send sparks into the air to signal for Hagrid when Potter took a step forward. As soon as he did so, a hooded figure approached the unicorn. Draco, frozen with fear, couldn’t find it within himself to move, and from the looks of it, neither could Potter and Fang. However, when the figure descended upon the unicorn, placing its lips at the gaping wound to consume its blood, Draco felt as if he were about to faint, terror running in icy tendrils down his spine.

With a shrill scream that he didn’t even know he was capable of, Draco turned around and ran.

At least, he _tried_ to run.

He made it all of two long strides before running straight into Azula, knocking them both to the ground in a tangle of limbs, Potter be damned.

“Get off of me!” Azula hissed breathlessly, shoving Draco off of her with a forceful push.

Draco groaned at the impact, opening his mouth to give Azula an earful before he saw he thrust her leg out abruptly. A torrent of harsh blue flames erupted from her foot towards the ravenous, hooded figure. Potter scrambled out of the way swiftly, just narrowly avoiding being burned to a crisp. The figure hissed and leaped backward, blood dripping sinisterly from its mouth. Its gaze was concealed beneath its hood, but Draco could discern that it was glaring intently – first at Potter, then at Azula before disappearing into the thicket of trees behind it.

Chancing a glance next to him, Draco registered the fact that Fang had long since bolted. He truly was a coward.

‘ _Not like you wouldn’t have done any differently._ ’ A little voice in Draco’s head reminded him. He fiercely ignored the comparison to a cowardly dog.

Azula, still frozen on the ground next to him, had a hand pressed to her chest. It was apparent to Draco that his Slytherin classmate was still in awe, a fact that was vaguely amusing to him. The sound of ragged breathing drew Draco’s attention to Potter, who had since fallen to his knees, clutching his scar in agony. The tiny, compassionate side of him was concerned for Potter. After all, it wouldn’t do to have the boy drop dead in front of him.

Fortunately for him, two centaurs – _Bane and Firenze_ , Draco gathered – soon appeared. The one called Bane wore a dark look on his face, sneering at the three students as if they were nothing more than common filth. A third centaur joined them, though it took Draco longer to mentalize this one’s name – _Ronan_. The trio of centaurs spoke in hushed whispers, and Draco was only able to make out snippets of their conversation, but not which centaur uttered which words:

“…the Potter boy –”

“Could care less if –”

“Ozai’s brat –”

“ _Iroh’s niece_. Iroh is a good man.”

“…Malfoy would never –”

“The alignment of the planets –”

All at once, the centaurs ceased their discussion, staring intensely at one another. It didn’t take much of Draco’s intelligence to understand that they were trying to figure out what to do. Potter had since gotten off the ground, offering his hand to Azula, who predictably swatted it away.

“We’ll escort you to safety.” Firenze said finally, staring pointedly at Bane, “All _three_ of us.”

Draco’s eyebrows shot up. _Without a saddle?_

Apparently, he had voiced his concerns aloud, as Bane fixed him with a glare. Haughtily, Draco glared back at him, refusing to be cowed by a glorified horse. Bane turned back to Firenze, an annoyed quality to his dark eyes.

“Can’t we just leave the Malfoy spawn behind?”

Draco gaped indignantly as Potter stifled a snort, Azula showing less restraint with the chuckle that escaped her.

“How _dare_ –”

“Enough of this.” Ronan spoke sharply, angling his head towards Draco, “Get on.”

Holding his tongue as he sat on the benevolent centaur’s back, he watched as Potter sat atop Firenze, Azula doing the same with a begrudging Bane. Jolted out of his thoughts as Ronan started moving, Draco held onto the centaur’s neck for dear life. The dark scenery sped past as the centaurs moved swiftly through the forest. Draco, having never ridden an animal in his life, – ‘ _Riding animals is a simple pleasure for simple people_ ,’ his father had once told him – closed his eyes tightly, trying desperately to block everything out.

He paid little attention to the rest of the journey, and even less attention to how he got back onto Hogwarts grounds. What he did, however, focus on was the conversation he had with Azula once they had returned to their common room, well after midnight. She had barely placed a foot on the steps leading to the first-year Slytherin girls’ dormitory when Draco called out to her.

“That fire, the one in your hand earlier…” Draco began with a raised brow as Azula turned to face him, one of her hands resting on the railing next to her and the other one on her hips, “What was that?”

There was silence for a moment, the only sound in the common room the crackling of the flames in the fireplace. An amused glint entered Azula’s eyes, further emphasized by one corner of her mouth lifting.

“My family includes some of the most powerful benders in the world.” Azula declared, casually tossing a flame in the hand previously on her hip, “If you haven’t realized that about me by now, you don’t know me at all.”

As Azula returned to her dormitory, Draco was left alone in the common room, full of questions.

_Benders?_ – The only thing Draco knew about the Ryland family was the fact that they contributed greatly to the Wizarding World. That being said, he knew nothing past their wealth and influence, especially nothing about this _bending_.

With a determined frown on his face, Draco went to his dormitory to get ready for bed. He tried not to think too much about the events that had occurred earlier that night, but as sleep evaded him, he realized that he had no choice.

_What was the hooded figure in the woods? Why did Potter have such a negative reaction to it? What did bending consist of? – Was there only fire involved, or were there other earthly elements included?_

A deep sigh leaving his lips, Draco rolled onto his back in his bed, staring at the blank ceiling. Questions rolling around in his brain, plaguing him and rendering him unable to get a moment’s peace. The ceiling offered him no answers, and sighing once more, he rolled onto his side, closing his eyes tightly to try and force sleep to come.

“Draco, stop shuffling and go to bed.” Draco was startled by the voice of Blaise Zabini, who he didn’t even know was still awake. His Italian friend murmured quietly to himself in his native language, nothing Draco could understand.

Punching his pillow, Draco rested his head against it once more, and luckily for him, this time, sleep engulfed him soon after. Before it fully took over his senses, he vowed to uncover all of Azula Ryland’s secrets before they graduated Hogwarts.


	9. Nerves and Stones and Mirrors, Oh My

Azula couldn't recall the last time – _if any_ – that she had been nervous to take an exam, but she _could_ remember the last time a teacher had been nervous to give _her_ an exam. As the princess of the Fire Nation, Azula had a certain privilege when in the presence of lesser beings, those of lower social status. It was practically a given that people stuttered and became incoherent around her, not wanting to accidentally incur the wrath of the Firinian Royal Family, a family not known for their forgiving nature. However, upon sitting for her first exam, – Defense Against the Dark Arts, courtesy of Professor Quirrell – something just didn't seem right to her.

"P-p-please take your seats and t-t-take your quills out." Quirrell stammered, seeming paler than usual. From the beginning of Azula's tenure at Hogwarts, Quirrell's meek demeanor was enough to prevent him from truly standing out in Azula's mind, yet as he gave his instructions for the exam, he kept nervously fidgeting with his turban. "For this exam, I'll have you write a t-twelve-inch essay on h-how to know if a wizard has been attacked with the C-curse of the Bogies. You will have f-f-forty-five minutes."

Generally, the exams at Hogwarts tended to be cumulative, but Quirrell's exams always seemed to be the exception. With his instructions given, Quirrell stopped talking, wringing his hands in front of him before slapping one, abruptly stiffening.

Amused by Quirrell's lack of confidence, Azula prodded, asking, "Can we start now?"

Granted, she would've started regardless of his answer, but it was fun to see him squirm. Realizing he hadn't been clear with his directions, Quirrell nodded furiously, too choked up to verbalize his assent, turning his back to the class to avoid having to make eye contact with any of the students.

Azula glanced over at Draco, who occupied the seat next to her. The blond Slytherin had a smirk on his face as he shrugged, looking down at his parchment to begin the exam.

A cool chill suddenly went down Azula's spine, causing her to shudder. She got the eerie feeling that she was being watched. She turned to look at Draco once more, trying to see if he was the culprit, but he was focused on his work.

' _As you should be_.' A snide voice in the back of her head chastised her, but she ignored it.

She glanced behind her, towards where Potter and his group were seated. Hermione was predictably hard at work, already halfway down the parchment. Knowing the bushy-haired Gryffindor, she would probably request another sheet of parchment with the apparent book she planned on writing. Surely, the speed at which she was writing would bring about a series of intense hand cramps later on. Potter was writing slowly, a look of deep concentration on his face as he struggled to recall what he had learned earlier on in the year. Still, he appeared to have something else bothering him, as the frown plaguing his features was far too pensive to have been caused by a mere exam. Weasley, easily the most stressed of the three, was chewing on his quill nervously, not a single word transcribed on his parchment. Knowing him, Azula figured he'd score highly enough to just barely pass the class and not have to re-take it.

Sighing inaudibly, Azula faced the front of the room once more, certain that she wasn't going to get an explanation for the icy feeling that engulfed her when she caught sight of the back of Quirrell's turban. Squinting, Azula felt inexplicably drawn to it, unable to turn away. For a moment, she could've sworn she saw the imprint of a face, but before she could think too much of it, Quirrell spun around swiftly. Azula saw a brief hint of anger in his eyes before it was replaced with a nervous look, pursing her lips as he began fussing with his turban.

Azula didn't know for sure what had just happened, but she was determined to get some answers sooner rather than later. She stared down at her blank parchment before sparing a glance at the clock in the front of the room.

 _Twenty-seven minutes left_.

More than enough time to finish, but so much time had already been wasted. It wasn't like her to get so caught up in her thoughts that she was unaware of the passage of time, but she resolved not to waste any more time. Eyes narrowed, Azula began crafting her essay response, vowing to reclaim her lost time.

* * *

"So what you're telling me," Draco whispered to Azula at dinner, cutting carefully through his chicken with the appropriate utensils, "is that you think Quirrell is…"

Draco trailed off, unsure of how to continue. It wasn't everyday that Azula confided her suspicions in him.

Scratch that – Azula _never_ came to him with _anything_.

Azula gave him a sharp glance, rolling her eyes before continuing.

"I don't _think_ anything." Azula murmured just as softly, leaning closer to him to ensure that he could still hear her, "I _know_ he's up to something, and I say we investigate."

Draco stared at her in blatant shock, not even bothering to mask his emotions. Sure, they had agreed to ally themselves, but he never thought that it would extend to anything more than sheer political gain. His surprise must have been written all over his face, as Azula sighed in barely concealed exasperation.

"Look." Azula said, "I know we're not exactly friends, but you're the only person in this school – aside from _me_ , of course – who has an ounce of common sense. If there's anyone I know who can help me with this, it's you."

Draco couldn't help but preen at the praise, letting an arrogant smirk slip onto his features. He knew she respected him more than she let on.

"I knew you needed me, Ryland." He couldn't resist mocking her a bit. Draco half-expected steam to come out of Azula's ears with how annoyed she looked. Pushing the boundary even further, he continued with, "I'm glad you're finally admitting it to yourself."

Azula said nothing, instead giving him a blank expression. He was sure that she was annoyed, but knew her well enough to realize that she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of letting him know his words affected her. The brunette Slytherin took a sip of her pumpkin juice, immediately wincing.

"Too sweet for you?" Draco recalled her once telling him that she didn't consume sweets, and came to the conclusion that the sweetened flavor of the beverage appalled her.

"Not spicy enough." Azula sniffed shaking her head in disgust before turning back to Draco, eyebrow raised, "Are you in or not?"

Draco didn't have to ask what she was referring to, nor did he have to seriously contemplate his response.

"I'm in."

* * *

As it turned out, Professor Quirrell was an incredibly boring person to follow. Both Draco and Azula figured this out the hard way when they trailed the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor as he left the Great Hall, leaving their respective dinners unfinished.

By the time they reached the defense classroom on the first floor, – room 104 – which, admittedly, had taken practically no time at all from the Great Hall, Quirrell had done nothing more than fumble with his turban. The two Slytherins turned the last corner to approach the classroom when Quirrell stopped abruptly. Draco felt himself being yanked backwards around the corner, Azula spinning him around. She opened a nearby suit of armor, gesturing for him to step inside.

"Are you bloody insane?" Draco hissed, attempting to keep his voice low, "I'm _not_ –"

Azula didn't let him finish, clamping a hand over his mouth and shoving him inside the armor, swiftly following suit. The armor, thankfully, closed with a soft thud. There wasn't much space, however, and as a result, Azula had to step on Draco's toes, causing the blond boy to grunt irritably.

"Those are new shoes." Is what Draco tried to say, but as Azula's hand was still firmly planted over his mouth, what came out was a plethora of nonsensical noises.

Eventually, Draco gave up on trying to speak, reaching over to take her hand off of his mouth. Though the lighting was almost nonexistent, Draco could tell that Azula was staring at him with the most unimpressed look she could muster. Just as Draco opened his mouth to chastise her, wanting to ask her just what the hell she thought she was doing, he made out Quirrell's voice from what sounded to be a few feet away.

"I-is anyone there?" Quirrell stammered out. As per usual, his tone was frightened and unconfident, "Wh-who's there?"

Both Slytherins remained quiet, hardly daring to breathe. Through the small eyes of the armor, Draco could see Quirrell wringing his hands. Once the latter was convinced that there was no one else in the corridor with him, he stood up straight.

"I told you that there was no one here." Quirrell spoke fluidly, not a single trace of a stutter as he patted the back of his head tenderly. After a moment, Quirrell shuddered, clutching his head in a manner similar to the way Potter grabbed his head back in the Forbidden Forest, as if in great pain, "We'll find the Sorcerer's Stone soon. The Potter boy will prove useful yet."

Soft footfalls indicated that Quirrell was walking away. Once his steps could no longer be heard, Draco let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Uncomfortable pressure on his feet alerted him to the fact that Azula was still standing on his feet, apparently without the intention of moving any time soon. Quietly, he reached out, poking her in the ribs in an effort to garner a reaction from her. A quiet, probably involuntary snort left her lips and Draco immediately felt her fingers flicking the top of his head as she stepped out of the armor.

"Never touch me again." Azula scowled, brushing imaginary lint off of her skirt.

Draco rolled his eyes, stretching leisurely as he followed her out of the armor. Wiggling his toes, he was pleased to note that aside from a few cramps, no damage had been done to either him or his shoes.

"What was that about a Sorcerer's Stone?" Draco asked, brows knitted in concentration, "And why does Potter have to be the one to help?"

Azula was quiet, arms crossed as she contemplated his question. Finally, she looked up, a realization reflected in her eyes.

"I overhead Potter the other day talking to his group, something about Nicholas Flamel and some immortality elixir via the stone." Azula admitted, "They're convinced that Snape wants this stone, for one reason or another, but obviously, their prejudices are leading them astray."

There was something in Azula's tone that Draco didn't like. Something that gave him the terrible impression that she wanted to _help_ Potter… _again_.

"What do you propose then?" Azula's single raised eyebrow gave Draco pause. The inherently amused look on her face gave Draco all the answer he needed, "You can't seriously mean that we get involved." Azula's silence said it all, "If Quirrell's involved in some shady business, shouldn't we just leave Potter to his peril?"

Azula's lips twitched, and couldn't tell if she was refraining from scowling or smiling.

"Are you really suggesting that we let _Potter_ know more about the inner workings of this school than us?" Azula scoffed, "I say if there's something amiss, we be the first to know about it…starting with that stone."

Draco had to admit that she had a point. The last thing he wanted was for Potter and his gang to have something up on him. The only question was how they'd learn more about this vital stone.

"Evidently, the restricted section of the library is the first place we search." Azula glanced at her wristwatch briefly, answering Draco's unasked question in a manner that really shouldn't have shocked Draco at this point, "Quite frankly, I don't think that something this important would be in the student-friendly aisles of the library, but it's bound to be in the restricted section."

Draco snorted, fully prepared to ask her how she proposed they sneak into the restricted section when Azula's entire demeanor changed. Unforgiving sneer on her face, stiff posture, and narrowed eyes. Something unpleasant was bothering her, and as Draco looked behind him, he understood why.

"Why are you always following me around like a sick baby fire hawk?" Azula snapped, golden eyes glinting dangerously in the light of the corridor, "Don't you have a life other than trying to be _me_?"

Zuko Ryland, donned in Gryffindor colors with a sloppy looking tie draped lazily across his neck, stared right back at Azula. His similar golden eyes had widened first before mirroring the look on his sister's face. His arms were crossed defensively, and he looked briefly at Draco before turning back to Azula.

"Don't you have anything better to do than being just like our _father_?" Zuko spat out.

Amusement flitted across Azula's features as she sauntered towards her older brother, reaching out to grab his chin, squeezing harshly. Zuko roughly slapped her hand away, but that didn't deter Azula's humored demeanor.

"It doesn't hurt to aspire to be successful." Azula grinned wickedly, shaking her head, "Enough pleasantries, Zuzu. You're going to do something for me."

Zuko's frown got deeper, and Draco wondered how the older boy hadn't burst a blood vessel by then.

"And what makes you think I'll take orders from you?"

Azula shrugged, walking back until she was standing next to Draco.

"I just thought that you'd want to do a favor for your dear little sister." Azula's voice took on a saccharine quality, one that Draco easily saw through. It was evident that Zuko saw through it too, as the severe look never left his face, "You know, dad asks about you all the time."

At Azula's words, Zuko faltered, the harsh look on his face giving way to a vulnerable one. Draco didn't have to know their family dynamic to understand that she was exploiting his weaknesses.

 _She was a true Slytherin_.

"You're lying." Though Zuko spoke through gritted teeth, Draco knew that Azula was getting through to him, "You _always_ lie."

"Suit yourself, Zuzu." Azula made to walk away, beckoning for Draco to follow her, "I'll just have to write him back and tell him that you _haven't_ learned your lesson on obedience."

Azula paused, tapping her chin as if contemplating something.

"And to think I was going to suggest that he welcome you back to the Fire Nation." Azula sighed, "Oh well."

The Slytherin first-years made it no more than a few steps before Zuko's voice called out to them.

"Wait." The defeat in the older boy's voice was palpable, and Draco didn't have to be looking at Azula to know that she wore a smug expression, "What do you want me to do?"

* * *

"I didn't think it would be that easy." Draco murmured quietly to Azula. The walk to the Slytherin dungeon had been quiet ever since Zuko had retrieved a few books for them from the restricted section.

" _Please_." Azula said haughtily, and Draco could tell without looking at her that she had rolled her eyes – _her favorite pastime_ , it seemed – "Zuzu's always sniveling for our father's favor. What he neglects to realize is that he'll never get it."

If Azula had been the type of girl to skip merrily, Draco had no doubt that she would've done so. He had to admit to himself that Azula was resourceful. Had it been Draco in the situation, he knew that he probably would've tried to use intimidation tactics, but the way Azula used Zuko's mental weaknesses against him was nothing short of sublime.

He'd have to make a note of that the next time he dealt with Potter, and perhaps Crabbe and Goyle too.

The faint sound of tapping echoed in the corridor, the noise bringing Draco out of his thoughts. He strained to listen harder, and the more he heard, the more he was certain that something unpleasant was about to happen.

"Do you hear that?" Draco's voice was no more than a whisper, so as not to disrupt the eerie quiet of the corridor.

Azula stopped walking, books firmly clutched to her chest. She was perfectly still, so much so that Draco could hardly see her breathing.

"I hear claws." Azula clarified, nodding slowly. She seemed unafraid for the most part, but Draco didn't miss how she stiffened, "We need to hurry."

"No." Draco grabbed Azula by the shoulders, ushering her into the nearest classroom and shutting the door as quietly as he could manage. The door complied with the faintest of _clicks_ , "We need to _hide_."

Spinning around faster than Draco could see, Azula shoved the books into his hand, moving to crack open the door. By now, it was open enough for a small animal – _Mrs. Norris_ even – to fit.

"What the hell are you –" Draco couldn't finish his statement, because for the second time that day, Azula forcibly shut him up with a hand. He settled for glaring at her.

"Closing the door _all the way_ makes it obvious that there's something to hide." Azula slowly took her hand away, "Leaving it open maintains the façade that it's vacant."

Draco mulled over her suggestion as she took the books back, moving over to sit on the floor in front of a mirror. Relenting with a sigh, Draco followed her, picking up one of the books.

 _The Genius of Nicholas Flamel_ by Vera Ashcroft

Reading in his leisure time was one thing, but reading to actively uncover secrets was something Draco had never done before. Flipping through the pages, Draco quickly became bored. There was only so much he could take with regards to reading about Nicholas Flamel, who – somehow – was even older than Dumbledore, and his wife.

He chanced a glance at the book Azula was reading, noting that the brunette girl was deeply engrossed in it.

 _Immortality and Power: 10 Wizards Who Have Made It Possible_ by Arnold Warbeck

"Azula." Draco murmured suddenly, a recurring thought appearing in his head.

"Hm." Was his only response.

"You said that your family is a group of benders." Draco continued.

Azula stopped reading momentarily to look up at Draco. In the almost nonexistent light of the classroom, Draco could see her staring at him intently, scrutinizing his every move.

"Yes." Azula nodded, "And?"

His cheeks heated up, and he was suddenly grateful that the room was shrouded in darkness. Azula didn't need to know how stupid she made him feel. Her intense gaze didn't let up.

"Can you explain the whole firebending thing to me?" He asked quietly, watching as Azula blinked in apparent surprise.

She leaned closer to him, searching for something in his eyes. When she was confident that she had attained it, she nodded to herself, leaning back and returning to her book. Draco was sure that he was being ignored, ready to make his presence known again, when Azula began talking.

"I hail from the _Fire Nation_ , Draco." Azula murmured, turning a page with the utmost care, "Ironic? Yes, I know, but a decent portion of people from the Fire Nation have the pyrokinetic ability to bend fire. Think of bending as a form of magic, if you will. I can do it. My brother, uncle, and father can do it, and my grandfather before them. Us royals have the tendency of being the best firebenders, aside from the _Avatar_."

Draco noticed how Azula's tone soured at the mention of this Avatar figure. Evidently, this person – whether male of female, Draco didn't know – wasn't welcome in the Fire Nation.

"Avatars hail from each of the four nations." Azula hesitated, "Well, _three_ now. My great-grandfather Sozin took out the Air Nomads, but there's still the Fire Nation, the Earth Kingdom, and the Water Tribe. The last Avatar was a traitor to the Fire Nation, and as such, Sozin had him eliminated."

An involuntary shudder ran up Draco's spine. _Eliminated_ seemed like such a harsh word. Granted, that's what purebloods were trying to do to mudbloods and blood traitors, but coming from Azula, – and in such an emotionless tone no less – it seemed devastating.

"When my father had Zuko banished, he did so with the condition that Zuko could return if he found the Avatar." A grin worked its way onto Azula's face, "Yet, no one's seen the Avatar for over 100 years, but that doesn't stop Zuko from searching with Uncle Fuddy Duddy every summer." Azula shrugged, "His problem, not mine."

Thoughts swirled about in Draco's mind, each one interrupting the other. Her family history made his seem dull in comparison. That's not to say Draco wasn't proud of his own heritage – who wouldn't be proud about being born of the two most prominent pureblood families in the Wizarding World?

His thought process was disrupted by the sound of louder tapping sounds, coming from just outside the classroom door. A quick look at Azula told Draco that she had heard the same thing.

"Just a little further, Mrs. Norris." Filch's voice could be heard, gravelly as ever, "I know you're tired, but patrol's almost done for now."

The silence that followed was deafening, and it became apparent that Filch had lifted Mrs. Norris into his arms, as the tapping sounds had disappeared. Holding his breath for a moment longer, Draco exhaled softly.

"That was close." His words garnered no response from Azula and when he looked over to her, she was staring up at the mirror she was next to, "Azula?"

She didn't answer, and upon closer inspection, Draco could make out letters carved into the mirror's frame:

 _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on whosi_.

Draco scrunched up his nose, confused. _What kind of ancient language was that_?

"I show your heart's desire." Azula murmured to no one in particular, reaching out to touch the mirror, pausing before she recoiled as if burned.

"How could you _possibly_ know what that says?" Draco queried in bemusement.

Without taking her eyes from the mirror, Azula replied.

"Mai and I used to try our hand at talking backwards." Azula was still quiet, her gaze focused solely on the mirror, "The words on this mirror are written backwards, the oldest – and by far _simplest_ – code in the book."

At closer inspection, Draco found that she was right. He looked into the mirror for himself and gasped, immediately leaning away from it. The mirror was wrong about one thing – it _did_ show his face, but that's not all it showed. Next to him was his mother, smiling radiantly as she placed a hand on his shoulder. Beside his mother and behind him was his father, grinning proudly, hand on Draco's other shoulder. He had his arm wrapped around his mother's waist as the two of them looked at each other lovingly before turning their adoring gazes to Draco. In the background, Draco could see a ministry owl hooting desperately in a bid for his father's attention. Much to Draco's surprise, his father ignored it, choosing to pick up a nearby broomstick and show it to the mirror version of Draco. The latter, happier than words could describe, hugged his father tightly, an embrace that the older man returned as his mother looked on in elation.

Draco felt the sting of tears enter his eyes and tore his gaze from the mirror, rubbing furiously at his eyes. He became disgusted with himself. _Malfoys_ didn't cry, so why did he feel such despair at the mirror's depiction? He looked over to Azula, hoping that she hadn't seen his momentary lapse in character, only to see that she too had turned away from the mirror. Her eyes were focused intently on the book she had been reading.

"Nicholas Flamel created the Sorcerer's Stone and subsequently used it to create the Elixir of Life." Somehow, Azula's voice wasn't as confident as it had been earlier. When he stared closer at the book she was reading from, her could've sworn he saw a single tear stain, "I suppose Quirrell's trying to gain immortality for himself."

The decent part of Draco sought to comfort his Slytherin comrade. It was obvious that whatever she had seen in the mirror had shaken her. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he was surprised when she didn't immediately flinch away, instead looking up to meet his gaze. There were a few tears in her eyes, and she roughly wiped them away.

"You'll speak of this to no one." Azula said dryly. She really wasn't in any position to make demands, but still, she did.

Who would Draco tell anyways? _Pansy? Crabbe and Goyle? Potter? Zuko_?

"Your secret is safe with me." Draco spared her a small smile, and was stunned to see her return it.

* * *

Later that night, as Azula struggled to go to bed, the memory of that forsaken mirror's images haunted her. Tossing and turning, mumbling to herself, nothing seemed to be able to work. Images like those were for despicable people like Zuko. Obviously, that mirror was just a sham, for there was no way possible that what she saw was her heart's desire. Her father was already proud of her, she'd give the mirror that, and she wanted to keep his pride for as long as possible.

_But why had the mirror shown her images of Zuko, Uncle Iroh, and her **mother** of all people bonding with her?_


	10. A Temporary Truce and Friendships Forged

If anyone had told Azula that she would willingly assist Harry Potter and his friends (without any spiteful intent towards anyone), she would have sneered at them, insulting them to the point of no return. If anyone had told her that she would put her life on the line for _anyone_ , she would have scoffed at them, determined to show them _exactly_ how much she valued lives other than her own.

As a matter of fact, she was still in disbelief at how she ended up teaming with Potter and his friends to take down Quirrell.

“Remind me again why I’m doing this.” Azula murmured to no one in particular, allowing the small flame in her hand to light the area a few feet in front of her.

In hindsight, the statement was rhetorical in nature. After the night a few days ago that she spent with Draco, learning some of the secrets of the Sorcerer’s Stone, she was convinced that Quirrell shouldn’t have it in his possession. If a person wasn’t born strong, using the stone to attain some semblance of strength would have no worthwhile effect. Of course, Azula herself didn’t care whether or not Quirrell wasted his time, but there was just a persistently nagging feeling deep within her gut that insisted she get herself involved. Seeing as Draco had no desire to personally involve himself any more than he already had, Azula would have to take matters into her lone hands.

Or, as lone as her hands could be with the Golden Trio involved.

“No one told you to follow us.” Weasley scowled, his words a late response to Azula’s earlier words, “Just slither back to the dungeons, why don’t you?”

A feeling of ire rose in her chest, prompting Azula to spin around furiously, her wand in hand faster than Weasley could blink. At seeing her on the offensive, the latter gulped audibly, though he still managed to keep an indignant expression on his face.

“Listen here, Weasley –”

“Azula, please don’t.” Hermione pleaded, wrapping a gentle hand around the temperamental brunette’s wrist.

Taking a look at her surroundings, Azula recalled just how quiet the corridors of Hogwarts could be, especially at such a late hour. Even the slightest infraction would echo loudly, sure to alert any nighttime monitors on the prowl of the presence of four students who ought to be sleeping in their dormitories. With a resigned sigh, Azula let bygones be bygones.

“Let’s just go.” Potter broke the tense silence with a suggestion, hastening his stride without a single backward glance.

Never one for being left behind, Azula followed.

* * *

“You mean to tell me that you intend on using a _flute_ to tame a savage beast?” Azula deadpanned, halfway between boredom and cynical amusement as she watched Potter fumble with the aforementioned musical instrument, “And yet you think _me_ the crazy one.”

Potter snorted, the sound disrupting his attempts as he briefly stopped playing the flute to address her.

“Do you have any other ideas?” At the sound of the savage dog’s – Fluffy, as Azula learned – disgruntled snarls, the tell-tale sign that he was waking up, Potter began playing again.

As a matter of fact, Azula _did_ have an idea.

Back in the Fire Nation, she always used her firebending to intimidate animals into submission. From fire hawks and turtle ducks to vicious animals like mongoose lions, size didn’t matter as long as Azula had her fire. She got the impression, however, that instead of cowering, _this_ dog would only growl louder, potentially jeopardizing the entire evening.

It was for this reason – _and this reason only_ – that Azula remained silent.

Once the four of them made it past Fluffy, they dropped disgracefully into a hole a few feet away, landing in front of one of the largest doors Azula had ever seen.

A large door, yes, but very much unattainable – _the sticky Devil’s Snare made sure of that_.

Much as she writhed, Azula couldn’t liberate herself from the carnivorous plant. Her reluctant companions were having the same struggle.

“If only we had a fire.” Potter mused quietly.

Conspicuously, Azula lowered her hands to the plant’s surface. Ignoring the sticky texture, she allowed her palms to heat up, slowly melting the plant until it finally decided to release her. Stretching slowly, Azula allowed the kinks in her legs to sort themselves out.

“– a witch or not?” Azula tuned back into her surroundings in time to hear Weasley bellow, the scolding tone prompting a sheepish look from Hermione, “But wait. How did _you_ get out?”

Weasley’s accusatory tone had shifted to Azula, and the latter hardly spared him a disinterested glance.

“Does _no one_ around here know what firebending is?” Azula frowned, shaking her head in disgust. She knew upon arriving at Hogwarts that her peers would be beneath her in many areas, but it seems that she underestimated their lack of deductive reasoning.

At the new information, Hermione perked up. An eager gleam shone in her deep auburn eyes, and Azula knew that the Gryffindor girl was intrigued.

“Firebending.” Hermione breathed out, awe coloring her tone, “That’s a rare form of magic, isn’t it? At least, rare in the sense that it’s only really native to the people of the Fire –”

“We don’t have time for this right now!” Weasley exclaimed to Hermione, though his gaze never strayed from Azula, “Now are you gonna just stand there, or make some use of yourself and help us out of this mess?”

Azula momentarily entertained the notion of leaving the Golden Trio trapped in the Devil’s Snare, the idea bringing an amused grin to her face. It _would_ be fun to watch them fend for themselves, but the more practical side of her reasoned that tarrying any longer wouldn’t be in her best interest. Inhaling calmly, Azula drew her hands to her chest, gathering chi before she thrust them forward in a decisive strike. Had her brother tried to do this, it would’ve resulted in three accidentally burned Gryffindors, but Azula was a prodigy. Unscathed, the Gryffindor trio was released as the Devil’s Snare was reduced to a melted heap.

Azula wasn’t surprised when the only person she received thanks from was Hermione. Instead, Potter and Weasley rushed towards the great door in the room, trying desperately to open it.

 _Locked_.

“How did Snape get past here?” Potter grumbled aloud.

Azula raised an eyebrow. She knew that Potter’s dislike for Snape extended far and wide, but to firmly insist that the Slytherin Head of House was to blame for all that went wrong in the castle was a bit much, even for the impulsive Gryffindor boy.

“He didn’t.” Azula rolled her eyes, “The three of you have this man pegged all wrong. You’re too blinded by pettiness to see what’s _really_ going on here.”

“Don’t be an idiot.” Weasley shot back. Insulted, Azula opened her mouth to retort, but Weasley’s next set of words cut her off, “He’s been after Harry this whole year. Unfair points taken away, cursing Harry’s broom, the dirty looks. Who _else_ would be doing all this?”

‘ _Professor Quirrell_ ,’ is what went through Azula’s mind, but she opted not to voice her opinion. If Potter and Weasley were so certain that Snape was out to get them, who was she to try to persuade them otherwise? It’s not as if she had anything to gain from trying to convince them that the thoughts they’d been having all year were wrong.

“Fine.” Azula shrugged, “Don’t believe me, but when you find out I’m right as usual…”

Azula let her words trail off. The boys looked conflicted, but Hermione was staring back at her with a look she couldn’t decipher. Before she could think too deeply into what that look meant, a glimmer of silver caught her attention. Looking towards the ceiling, Azula saw hundreds – maybe even _thousands_ – of keys flying about in the air.

“I’m going to assume that neither of you geniuses noticed the keys dangling above our heads.” Azula pointed nonchalantly, lips pursed.

As the three Gryffindors looked up, realizing that she was right, brief looks of contrition showed on their faces. Azula sighed.

 _This was going to be a long night_.

* * *

Pai sho is a game of skill that has been played throughout the initial four nations – the Earth Kingdom, Water Tribe, Fire Nation, and Air Temple – for thousands of years, even before the first Avatar was recognized. It was a game that Azula’s father didn’t care much for, but her Uncle Iroh absolutely adored. He took it upon himself to teach Zuko, determined to make a great pai sho player out of the disgraceful firebender. Favoritism ran deep in her family, for Iroh had never sought to teach _Azula_ how to play the game. Nevertheless, she acquired the skill at the Academy, and deemed herself proficient enough to play against anyone.

Wizarding chess, however, was a very different game. With very different pieces and meanings, chess was a far cry from pai sho, the only similarities being the fact that the goal of both games was to have the player’s pieces advance, whether it be across the board or with regards to ambition.

Consequently, for the first time in her life, Azula willingly took orders from someone other than her father. As it so happened, Weasley was a chess prodigy – a boy who had a decent amount of common sense when it came to wizarding chess. Once Azula learned that the losing pieces in wizarding chess got bashed over the head, she was less reluctant to argue with Weasley’s directions.

“Ryland,” Weasley was saying, “move your queen to E6. Then, on the next turn, Harry, move your knight one movement forward. On the turn after that, Hermione, move your rook four spaces to your right.”

Assuming position, Azula followed Weasley’s guidance, watching the rest of the game play out. Potter and Hermione proved proficient with listening skills, showcased by the fact that the two of them remained unscathed. All seemed to be going well until seemingly out of nowhere, Weasley turned ashen, his features deathly pale. Azula didn’t think she’d ever seen the red-headed boy appear so terrified.

The self-righteous part of Azula felt offended at the revelation, given the fact that _she_ wasn’t the root cause for Weasley’s horror.

“What is it, Ron?” Of course Potter was concerned. Weasley was his best friend, after all.

“Just remember that no matter what happens to me, you _have_ to stop Quirrell.” Weasley sounded like a martyr, and Azula couldn’t help but feel as if he was about to do something incredibly stupid.

Before anyone could say anything to get Weasley to change his mind, the latter made his move, placing him directly in the path of the opposing side’s queen. Just as she hadn’t looked away when Zuko received his scar, Azula watched in morbid curiosity as the opposing queen raised her scepter, dealing Weasley a devastating blow to the head. Without closer inspection, Azula knew that he was merely passed out, not dead as his stiff body would cause one to assume. Hermione let loose a sharp gasp as Potter stared on in horror. Azula, being the only one not overly horrified by the spectacle, realized that due to Weasley’s sacrifice, she, Potter, and Hermione were each located in such a position that no matter where the opposing king moved, he would be in check. It was with that rationale that the game ended, leaving the three conscious students to advance. Taking a short, slightly despairing look back at Weasley, they did just that.

* * *

“What is this supposed to be?” Potter sounded confounded.

In a barely lit room, a table was placed in the center. An assortment of potions rested on the table’s surface, various shades being displayed. Just beyond the table was a tall wall of fire, stemming from the high ceiling of the room to the floor. A bright purple, the flames crackled relentlessly.

“I know what this is.” Hermione said, eagerly rushing to the table, taking two potions in hand, “Most of these vials contain some kind of poison. If you drink them…”

Hermione cut herself short, an aghast look on her face. Potter mirrored the look. Azula, in the meanwhile, stared longingly at the fire. As a firebender, the flames seemed to be beckoning to her, _singing_ to her. She stepped a little closer to the purple flames, raising a hand to it. As she expected, they began to part, adjusting to her will.

“Instead of wasting time trying to figure out which will kill you,” Azula lifted her hands higher, creating a larger gap in the flames, “you _could_ take advantage of my kindness.”

Potter and Hermione took a moment to stare at each other, as if engaged in a private, mental conversation. At Potter’s raised brow, Hermione sighed, shaking her head.

“You go with Azula, Harry.” Hermione insisted, “You’re a better wizard than I am.” Azula knew that she herself would be unable to admit inferiority. A small part of her applauded her Gryffindor acquaintance. “I’ll stay with Ron, make sure he’s alright.”

Azula watched in amusement as Potter stared at her, his brows knitted in either frustration or confusion. She figured it was likely a mix of the two feelings. Potter didn’t trust her, and the feeling was mutual. She expected Potter to put up a fight, insist that _Azula_ be the one to check on Weasley while he moved on with Hermione. She expected him to complain and adamantly refuse to be left alone with her.

What she _wasn’t_ expecting was for him to look her straight in the eye, unblinking eye contact, and _agree_.

“Fine.”

* * *

“ _You_.” Azula relished in how betrayed Potter was when the two of them came face-to-face with Professor Quirrell.

The sinister Defense Against the Dark Arts professor smiled, placing both hands on his chest in a show of mock contrition.

“But of course. Who else were you expecting – _Severus_?” Quirrell shook his head, deeply amused by Potter’s misjudgment. Azula couldn’t help but agree with him. She _did_ , after all, try to warn Potter and his friends that their perception of Snape was misguided, “No one would ever suspect poor, st-t-tuttering P-professor Quirrell!”

Potter turned to look at Azula, simultaneous wonder and shock reflecting in his emerald orbs. Azula took great pleasure in his facial expression. It served him right. It wasn’t _her_ fault that he didn’t know how to tell when she lied from when she didn’t. People skills were something one was born with, something that people rarely perfected during their lifetime, after all.

“You were telling the truth.” Potter murmured quietly, the only thing he could muster.

Azula shrugged, glancing back and forth between Potter and Quirrell.

“Did you really think Zuzu was right with his whole ‘ _Azula always lies_ ’ spiel?” Azula scoffed, “Pathetic.”

Quirrell smiled, though not a trace of kindness was reflected in the action. He gestured towards the lone mirror in the room, the same mirror Azula recalled seeing on the night she went exploring with Draco. Upon seeing it, she glared at Quirrell, silently demanding to know what he was playing at. Noticing her tense stare, Quirrell tutted at her, causing her ire to increase. She didn’t appreciate being treated like a foolish infant.

“My dear girl, there’s no reason for such a nasty look to mar an otherwise pretty face.” Quirrell wore an expression so smug that Azula longed to burn it off. Building her resolve, she decided to be patient. It was as her father always told her – good things come to people who wait, and if that takes too long, seize the opportunity. “Now come, children. I want you to look in the mirror and tell me what you see.”

The more Azula stared at Quirrell, the more she noticed the face on the back of Quirrell’s head, validating her thoughts during the Defense Against the Dark Arts final – it _had_ been a face on the back of his turban!

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Potter glance at the mirror, his previously betrayed expression giving way to an anxious one. She watched quietly as he quickly felt his pockets, and when she focused harder, she could just barely make out the shape of some kind of rock.

 _The Sorcerer’s Stone_ , Azula surmised.

When she herself looked at the mirror, she immediately wished she didn’t. Staring back at her was a woman with many of her features – straight black hair, almond-shaped eyes, and pink lips. The only difference was the older woman’s shade of gold; it was more of a pale yellow than dark amber. Still, Azula knew exactly who she was staring at.

 _Her very own mother_.

Unlike the image from a few nights before, this one showcased her mother alone, wearing a warm smile that she usually reserved for Zuko. At seeing it, Azula frowned deeply, clenching her fists in an effort to keep her emotions in check. It was one thing to shed a tear in front of Draco – _who would he tell anyways_? – but Azula would never forgive herself for showing weakness to the likes of Harry Potter.

The movement of the image’s lips caught her attention, and she squinted in an attempt to read her lips. Once she had deciphered the message, her ire increased ten-fold.

 _I love you, Azula. I do, and I always have_.

Lies! All vicious lies meant to tear down Azula’s self-confidence and determination. She wouldn’t let her mother feed her false declarations of love and adoration, especially since she wasn’t even real.

“ _Azula_!” The sound of her name being called ripped Azula away from the treacherous image of her mother. Potter had apparently been engaged in some sort of physical struggle with Quirrell, and appeared to be in great pain.

The green-eyed Gryffindor had a large, ruby stone in hand, and was trying his best to keep it out of Quirrell’s hands. Rearing his hand back, he threw it with all the force he could muster, straight at Azula. More out of self-preservation than anything, Azula raised her hands to shield her face, inadvertently catching the stone at the same time. She could feel the raw power emanating from it as it glowed, becoming warm in her hands.

The infamous Sorcerer’s Stone, the singular cause for all the events that had transpired that evening, and it was now in her hands. As a Slytherin, she should have been ecstatic to have something of such great prominence within her hands, something that almost surely guaranteed success and glory, but the part of her that was raised by her father valued hard work, and she just couldn’t find it within herself to bask in the stone’s radiance.

A rustle of robes and furious hissing, Quirrell was making his way towards her, arms outstretched and a look of outrage displayed on his features. A quick glance at Potter showed that he was gasping for breath, clutching his scar tightly as he struggled to get up. He met her gaze and she knew exactly what she had to do – _keep that Agni forsaken stone away from Quirrell_.

“Give it to me!” Quirrell had the audacity to lunge for Azula, and skillful as she was, she dodged him, moving sharply to her right.

With a raise of his hand, a wall of flames surrounded them, excluding Potter from the mix. Mindful of being burned, Azula stepped as far away from Quirrell as she could. Firebending the flames to a manageable level was one thing, but she had to be fully aware of the stone’s presence in her hands. A simple misstep could bring about damning results.

Grabbing a fistful of her robes, Quirrell pushed Azula as hard as he could towards the flames, simultaneously reaching for the stone with his other hands. The look in his beady black eyes mirrored the same look as the creature from the forest during her detention with Potter and Draco, and she knew instantly that Quirrell had been the one to slay the unicorn. As he pushed her further and further, Azula was certain of two things:

  1. _Quirrell had no qualms about killing._
  2. _Neither did she._



With a low grunt, Azula kicked Quirrell’s feet from under him, eyes widening in fury as he tore her robes on his descent. A simple elevation of her hand prompted fierce blue flames to crackle around the two of them. Quirrell’s eyes widened, and he scooted backwards to get away from her. The face on the back of his head began yelling.

“ _Kill her!_ ” The face demanded, “ _Stop being weak and kill her_!”

Quirrell clutched his head in agony, writhing about the floor in an attempt to stop it. Just as Azula was about to bring her hand down, ending it all, the bottom of Quirrell’s robes caught on fire. He howled in a mixture of pain and anger, trying desperately to quench the flames.

_What was that old saying the girls at the Academy in the Fire Nation were told? Right._

_Stop, drop, and roll_ , and that’s exactly what Quirrell tried to do.

It was too late for him, however. The damage was done, and what remained was the charred shell of a former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. A thin trail of black smoke rose from his now burnt corpse, convening in a single symbol before dissipating entirely.

Azula hadn’t realized that the flames surrounding her had been put out until she felt a hand on her shoulder. Looking up, she met the twinkling gaze of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. She felt oddly patronized, but kept her thoughts to herself.

“How lovely to see you and Mr. Potter mostly unharmed, Ms. Ryland.” Dumbledore smiled, “I believe I can take over from here.”

Behind Dumbledore, a few feet away, Azula made out a familiar blond figure dressed in night clothes. He wore a sheepish grin, and the sense of normalcy it brought her prompted the slightest of tugs at the corner of her mouth.

* * *

 _Two hours_. Azula had been gone for two hours, and Draco knew he had to do something. Before leaving the Slytherin dormitory, Azula had told him that there was no need to worry about her.

‘ _I don’t need a bodyguard, Draco_.’ Azula had told him, ‘ _I can protect myself_.’

He believed her for the first half an hour, even full hour after she left, but as the time passed faster and faster and there was still no sign of her, Draco began to worry. It was unlikely that she had landed herself another detention or scolding – those things usually took place a day or so after the initial infraction. She should have been back by now to complain about it.

As he stared into the flames from his position on one of the common room couches, he was reminded of Azula’s peculiar firebending prowess. He knew on a conscious level that she was more than capable of handling herself, but any time Potter was involved, there was bound to be trouble.

Sighing, he stood up, leaving the common room area. A gust of cold air swept over him, and based on what his mother told him about her times at Hogwarts, he knew he was in the presence of a ghost.

“It’s late, Mr. Malfoy.” The voice was raspy, and as Draco turned around, he came face-to-face with the infamous Bloody Baron. The ghost rarely made an appearance _at all_ , but practically every Slytherin knew what he looked like.

Refusing to admit that the ghost intimidated him, Draco sneered. He squared his shoulders and crossed his arms defiantly over his chest.

“I don’t suppose _you_ would know anything about caring for your own, would you?” Slytherins always looked after their own, and Draco recalled his mother once telling him the story of the Bloody Baron and his brutal murder of Helena Ravenclaw. The ancient ghost, in a rare act of humanity, bore his soul to Narcissa Malfoy – then _Black_ , having seen something in her that reminded him of the fallen Ravenclaw.

The Bloody Baron was silent at the accusation. A look of intense anger crossed his features, adding a threatening ambiance to his already bloody silhouette, but instead of saying anything, he merely faded into the walls. Blinking rapidly, Draco couldn’t believe his good fortune. Instead of dwelling on it, he continued on his way.

A sudden thought stopped Draco right in his tracks, prompting him to be still and silent.

 _Who was he going to turn to_?

He could easily go to his godfather, Severus Snape, but Draco was of the impression that this was something that needed a greater power. McGonagall, as the deputy headmistress, could possibly help him, but he got the feeling that she wouldn’t appreciate her quiet evening being disrupted by him of all people. There was only one person left to turn to, and as much as Draco loathed to admit it, this person would be able to provide both him _and_ Azula the most assistance.

 _Headmaster Albus Dumbledore_.

* * *

As Draco stood in front of the twin gargoyles leading to Dumbledore’s office, surprised that Filch hadn’t caught him out of bed, he was dumbfounded. He was smart enough to realize that the unmoving stone creatures were waiting for a password of sorts, but puzzles had never been his forte.

 _This is exactly why, among other reasons, he wasn’t sorted into Ravenclaw_.

As he tapped his foot against the ground, Draco sighed. He wasn’t pious enough to hope for some sort of miracle, and definitely not optimistic enough to believe there was a chance of Dumbledore appearing out of thin air. Still, as he thought about the eccentric headmaster of Hogwarts, he recalled what his father told him about his time at the wizarding school.

‘ _Dumbledore was a foolish old wizard._ ’ Lucius had sneered, ‘ _Always going on about wizarding sweets, as if they were the cure to the bloody mudblood problem we have at Hogwarts_.’

Just as soon as Draco remembered his father’s words, an idea came to him. Staring at the gargoyles expectantly, he raised a brow.

“Chocolate frogs.” Draco said firmly. The gargoyles didn’t move a centimeter, their stiff posture almost mocking.

Scowling, Draco tried again.

“Bertie Bott’s Ever Flavour Beans.”

Still, the stone creatures refused to move. Draco sighed angrily. He could feel his cheeks warming with his frustration, and he threw his hands in the air in a show of exasperation.

“What do you expect me to say?” Draco didn’t care about keeping his voice quiet anymore, “ _Lemon drops_?”

Draco hadn’t been expecting anything to happen, so when the gargoyles finally moved, giving way to a moving staircase, he was startled momentarily before huffing.

 _His father would be hearing about this absurdity_.

Stepping onto the staircase, Draco soon found himself at the door of Dumbledore’s office. Knocking fiercely on the door, Draco resolved to keep knocking until he received an answer. Luckily for him, Dumbledore was actually in his office, and opened his door with that ever-infuriating smile.

“Mr. Malfoy, what brings you to my office this late at night?” Dumbledore asked.

Draco didn’t know where to start, but Dumbledore was a patient man, waiting for him to collect his thoughts. With a deep breath, Draco relayed to the elderly headmaster everything he knew – from Quirrell and the Sorcerer’s Stone (excluding bribing Zuko Ryland, of course) to Azula’s late night excursion to get to the bottom of things with Potter and his cronies. By the end of his recollection, he was hardly making sense, but Dumbledore got the gist of it, resting a hand on his shoulder to cease his explanation. The smile previously adorning his face had been replaced with a troubled frown.

“Then it is just as I had feared.” Dumbledore sighed.

Draco gaped at him, forgetting propriety.

“You’re telling me you _knew_ about Quirrell this whole –”

“There is no time to discuss all that I know, Mr. Malfoy.” Dumbledore interrupted him, ushering him out of his office and down the set of stairs leading to it, “We must make haste.”

Uncharacteristically, Draco stopped talking, following Dumbledore’s lead through the darkened corridors. Whether it was because of his authority or Draco’s own fear, he didn’t know, but one thing was for certain.

 _Azula had better be alright_.

* * *

Blinding white. That’s all Azula registered as she opened her eyes. She resisted the urge to shy away from the harsh sunlight seeping in through some curtains a few feet away from her. She was a firebender, for Agni’s sake. She could deal with a little light.

“I see he didn’t kill you.” Azula knew that voice.

As she sat up in the bed she was currently occupying, she met the dark gray gaze of Draco Malfoy. From previous experience, Azula registered the fact that she was in the hospital wing. The nauseating smells of potions gave it away for her.

“ _Of course_ Quirrell didn’t kill me.” Azula scoffed, internally wincing at how raspy her voice sounded. _How long had she been out_? “The idiot accidentally killed _himself_.”

Draco snorted, evidently finding the debacle as amusing as she did.

“I wasn’t talking about Quirrell.” Draco shook his head, “I meant Dumbledore.”

Azula’s brows furrowed. She knew the old man was crazy, but didn’t know he would have the audacity to try and assassinate her. Draco, noticing the conflicting emotions on Azula’s face, was quick to rectify his statement.

“He didn’t try to _kill_ you.” Draco murmured sheepishly, “After your whole experience with Potter and Quirrell, he wanted you to get checked out at the hospital wing. You know, make sure everything was alright with you.” Draco hesitated. “You refused.”

Slowly, but surely, the fragments of Azula’s memory prior to her waking up in the hospital wing returned to her. She vaguely remembered Dumbledore looking at her sympathetically before a flash of red light engulfed her. Her eyes widened.

“ _He knocked me out_?” Azula exclaimed, equal parts horrified and enraged.

Draco shrugged.

“He prefers the word sedated.” Draco clarified, “In fact, before you woke up, he whisked Saint Potter and Weaselface off to Merlin knows where. He _did_ tell me to alert him when you woke up, but I’m such a good friend that I decided to talk to you first.”

Draco gave her what he probably thought was a charming smile, but Azula wasn’t impressed. Still, a tiny smirk rose on her features.

“Who gave you the impression that we’re friends?”

Draco scoffed, a smug grin on his face.

“Face it, Azula. We can’t have gone through the things we went through this year without _at least_ being friends.” Draco prodded, sitting down next to her on the bed, “Now what do you say? I need a decent friend to sit next to me at the end of year feast. Crabbe and Goyle are idiots. Blaise only wants to talk to Daphne Greengrass, and Pansy’s creepy.”

Azula was silent, tapping her chin with her index finger in mock thought.

“Well, I _would_ make a better friend than Parkinson.” Azula relented, “And I suppose you’re the only Slytherin who has _some_ decency about them.” Azula nodded matter-of-factly. “Very well. I’ll give you the privilege of being my friend.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“You make everything sound like a business transaction.”

“And as my friend, you’re supposed to accept me, formalities and all.”

The genuine grin that rose on Draco’s face was infectious, and Azula found herself smiling soon after. Friends were hard to come by in life – proof of that was the fact that her only true friends were Mai and Ty Lee, but they were still in the Fire Nation. With a sigh, Azula allowed herself to acknowledge a thought that had slowly been growing on her for the whole year.

 _Maybe having Draco as a friend wouldn’t be so bad after all_.


	11. A New Home

The end of year feast reminded Draco of the many pureblood balls he’d been to as a young boy, and as such, he wasn’t really impressed with Hogwarts’ display of food. Despite the fact that the Slytherin table now featured practically all of his favorite foods, Draco couldn’t find it in himself to become excited, providing a stark contrast to the Gryffindor table. All of its inhabitants were talking loudly and merrily, each in a festive mood as a result of the academic year coming to a close.

“I don’t understand why everyone is so happy.” Azula muttered sourly from next to him. Draco turned his head in time to see her poking sulkily at the string beans in front of her, “It’s just a feast. You’d think these people had never seen a proper ceremony before.”

He nodded his agreement. There was nothing truly spectacular about the end of the year ceremony. It was just a time for members of all houses to stuff their faces, and there was absolutely nothing special about that.

“Draco, darling.” Shrill, grating voice. Draco winced. He knew exactly who had decided to sit on the other side of him, “I’m going to miss you terribly over the break.”

Draco plastered a fake grin on his face, leaning over to pat the Slytherin girl’s hand gently. He didn’t miss the mocking face Azula gave him in return. He glared briefly at her before turning his attention to the Slytherin who had just spoken to him.

“I’ll…miss you too, Pansy.” Draco forced the words out, nearly gagging at his sugary words. It wasn’t that he didn’t _like_ Pansy. She was loyal enough to the right causes, and proved to be a decent enough person to be around sometimes. She came from a good family, and had the proper attitude about mudbloods, but there was just something about her that seemed…

“Clingy much, Parkinson?” Azula took the words right out of Draco’s mouth, and he shot her a grateful look, “You’d think that he was your boyfriend or something. Newsflash, we’re _hardly twelve_.”

That was a bit of a hyperbolic statement. While it was true that Draco had turned twelve earlier that month – _June 5 th_, to be exact – he knew for a fact that Azula wouldn’t be twelve until _at least_ August. A small part of him felt guilty for not knowing the exact date, but thinking back, he didn’t think she’d ever divulged that bit of information to him. As far as he knew, she was born in the hottest month in the Fire Nation, and that was August.

Pansy whirled around to glare at Azula, no longer able to see Draco’s facial expressions. He didn’t, however, miss the light dusting of pink on her cheeks at the assumption that she was his girlfriend.

“I don’t recall speaking to _you_ , Ryland.” Draco was certain that Pansy was scowling. He could see Azula’s neutral expression clearly, though there was an amused glint in her amber eyes, “Are you jealous that Drakie and I have a better relationship than you and he do?”

Azula rolled her eyes as Draco winced at his involuntary nickname. Pansy was the only person in the world who decided to call him by the unofficial diminutive of his name. Not even his mother would embarrass him with such an atrocious name, and considering the fact that she _loved_ to embarrass him, that was saying something.

“I assure you that _Drakie_ and I are only friends. You can have him for all I care.” Azula shrugged, much to Draco’s horror. He glared harshly at the Firinian brunette, a look that granted him a smug grin from her. He should’ve known better than to think she’d actually help him. Friends or not, Azula Ryland was tricky, “You have nothing to worry about, Pansy darling.”

Though Azula had called Pansy by first name, her tone was anything but sweet. Draco watched as an involuntary shudder ran through Pansy’s frame at Azula’s words, but before he could dwell on it, he was brought out of his musings by Pansy turning back to him. Again, he plastered a fake smile on his face. He vaguely registered Blaise’s snickers from somewhere at the Slytherin table, and vowed to get him back someday. Perhaps, his vengeance would have something to do with Daphne Greengrass, the fellow Slytherin that Blaise was infatuated with. Only time would tell.

“Let’s eat, Drakie.” Pansy insisted, and Draco followed her lead.

The sudden hushing that took place in the Great Hall prompted Draco’s assumption that Dumbledore was about to begin speaking, as was customary for the headmaster to do at the end of year celebration. A look towards the professors’ table proved his assumption correct.

“This year, you all have had to overcome a myriad of trials and tribulations,” Dumbledore’s voice echoed throughout the hall, whether as a result of a _sonorous_ charm or his natural vocal cadence, Draco didn’t know, “and you have all become better witches and wizards because of it. Each and every one of you.”

Draco’s mind involuntarily went back to that night a few days ago when he risked detention – and possibly his own life, now that he really thought about it – for Azula, Potter, and the rest of the Golden Trio. Quirrell proved to be a dangerous man, and having gone blindly on a quest to uncover the truth, Draco realized that the deceased professor could have easily set up traps along the way that could have killed him _or_ Azula. He ignored the chill it sent up his spine, and determined that his momentary fear was something that his father didn’t have to know about.

“That being said,” Dumbledore continued, his serious countenance giving way to a more serene smile, “it is my pleasure to announce the results of this year’s House Cup.”

Eager whispers flooded throughout the Great Hall, bouncing off of the room’s high walls and ceiling. Even Draco couldn’t help the excitement that entered his system. It was true that Ravenclaw had won the Quidditch Cup, but there was still a chance for Slytherin to be triumphant.

“It’s obviously between Slytherin and Ravenclaw.” Azula said resolutely, and Draco agreed with her, “Gryffindor and Hufflepuff are abysmal, so the other two houses are the only reasonable candidates for the House Cup.”

“Gryffindor might win.” Zuko Ryland’s voice came out of nowhere, and both Draco and Azula turned to glare at him, “I can’t wait to see the look on your face when you realize that you _don’t_ always win.”

Azula scoffed. The ire was evident in her eyes, but not reflected in her next words.

“If Gryffindor actually wins, it’ll be just like all the other victories in your life.” Azula mused, her characteristic smirk falling into place, “Short-lived and a result of pity instead of actual skill.”

Zuko flushed a deep red, his chest swelling in utter indignation. He opened his mouth, most likely to retort heatedly, when a soft voice interrupted his attempt.

“Go back to your table, Ryland.” The voice, though quiet, had a firm tone, belonging to Malia di Angelo, Blaise’s older cousin. The Italian Slytherin stared at Zuko with an unreadable expression, and Draco couldn’t figure out her angle, “You have no business here.”

Zuko, in turn, pursed his lips. It was apparent that he wanted to say something more, something that would probably save him face, but at the look on Malia’s face, he kept quiet. His gaze was intense as he looked back and forth between Azula and Malia, his features torn before he let out a long, drawn-out sigh.

“Fine.” Zuko stared pointedly at Malia before storming back to the Gryffindor table.

Draco looked at Azula and wasn’t surprised to see a look of disdain on her face.

“He just doesn’t know when to give up.” Azula frowned, finally taking a bite of her previously abandoned string beans.

Draco shrugged. There wasn’t really much he could say to that. He looked away from Azula as he registered Blaise’s voice entering the mix.

“What was that about?” He was talking to Malia, his tone curious as he sought to understand the interaction between his cousin and Azula’s brother, “Why’d he listen to you? I’ve never seen a Gryffindor take orders from a Slytherin.” He paused, “And better yet, how can I get him to listen to _me_?”

There was a flash in Malia’s eyes, one that Draco didn’t understand, as she regarded her younger cousin silently. Her eyes flickered briefly away from Blaise, and as Draco followed her gaze, his eyes came to rest on the Hufflepuff table. He couldn’t single out _who_ exactly she was staring at, but based on rumors, he had a pretty good idea.

“I’m a prefect, Blaise.” Malia replied finally, dark eyes raised, “What did you expect him to do? Ignore me? One would think he knows better by now than to disobey an authority figure when he doesn’t have much _agency_.”

The last word she murmured sounded bitter to Draco’s ears. If he knew her better, he might have asked her why she seemed so irritated, but alas, his loyalties were with Blaise, not her.

“In last place with 352 points is Hufflepuff.” Dumbledore’s words were accompanied by the good-natured cheers of the Hufflepuff table, “With 426 points, Ravenclaw House earns the third-place spot.”

The Ravenclaws, though still cheerful, wore slightly despondent looks on their faces. Perhaps, Draco figured, they thought that the sheer intelligence they displayed in their classes would award them enough points to secure _at least_ second-place, if not first.

“This brings us to Gryffindor and Slytherin.” Dumbledore continued, the twinkle in his eyes suggesting that he was amused by the final results, “As the results currently stand, Slytherin is in first place with 472 points, with Gryffindor at 312.”

Whispers broke out in the Great Hall at Dumbledore’s words. With that logic, didn’t Slytherin win the cup, followed by Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, with Gryffindor in last place? Draco didn’t understand why the elderly headmaster would prolong Gryffindor’s disgraceful defeat.

“As it so happens, there are additional points to be included.” Dumbledore’s voice once more quieted the anxious student whispers, “For a pure heart and tremendous courage, 60 points will be awarded to Gryffindor in the name of Harry Potter.” The Gryffindor applause was deafening, and Draco immediately felt sick to his stomach with annoyance. He could feel Pansy rubbing his back in what she probably thought was reassuring, while Azula stared stonily towards the Gryffindor table.

“There’s no way –” Azula muttered quietly to herself before changing her line of thought. Draco was in just as much disbelief as she was, “That meddling, _traitorous_ old –”

“For a positive spirit and collected manner in the face of adversity and fire, Hermione Granger earns Gryffindor House 50 points.” Dumbledore’s serene amusement never left his face, “And for the most interesting and skilled game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many centuries, Ronald Weasley earns Gryffindor House another 50 points.”

Draco, from his position at the Slytherin table, could see the Weasley twins grinning, patting their younger brother on the back with pride. A certain scar-faced boy gained his attention with his smirk, his eyes focused on none other than Azula, who wore a stone-cold expression.

“I refuse to be tied with someone as weak as _Zuko_.” Azula scowled as she furiously turned to Draco, who did the mental math and realized that they really were tied with Gryffindor now, “We did just as much as they did with the Quirrell situation.”

Draco agreed wholeheartedly. He knew that Potter was Dumbledore’s golden boy, and by extension, he must have had some favorable bias towards Weasley and Granger, but to give them points – and exclude Draco and Azula – was ridiculous.

“I cannot forget about Neville Longbottom, who – for having the courage to stand up to his friends when it must have been difficult – earns Gryffindor House 10 points.” Dumbledore’s words were almost deafened by the rampant shouts of Gryffindors.

“ _Gryffindor! Gryffindor!”_ The yelling was so loud Draco had to cover his ears for fear of going deaf. With the 10-point advantage, Gryffindor was now in the lead with 482 points, and Draco felt his right eye twitching with irritation. It appeared that only Gryffindors got recognition for doing brave things.

Azula was having a similar reaction, though she had her left fisted clenched tightly. Her face was an expressionless mask, but Draco could see the fire in her eyes. He had no doubt that if she could, she would’ve burned the Great Hall down, starting with her own brother.

“Let us not be hasty to celebrate, Gryffindors.” The twinkle in Dumbledore’s eyes had increased, if possible, as his tone took on a wistful quality, “Bravery from _all_ houses must be rewarded, after all, no matter what prejudices exist.”

Draco felt his heart thump wildly at Dumbledore’s latest words. He couldn’t possibly mean…

“For having the determination to look after a fellow classmate, despite reassurances that everything would be alright,” Draco could’ve sworn that the headmaster was staring straight at him before turning to address the whole school, “Draco Malfoy’s persistence has awarded Slytherin House an additional 10 points.”

As opposed to a smirk, a genuine smile rose on Draco’s features. He couldn’t help it, but as soon as he was aware of it, he immediately restored his cocky façade. He was a _Malfoy_ , after all. It was only natural that he be self-assured in everything he did.

With the additional points, Slytherin was now ahead of Gryffindor by 10 points, but Draco got the feeling that Dumbledore wasn’t finished.

“And finally, for possessing the ability to think intelligently and strategically for the greater good, and assisting a fellow classmate when his life was in peril, I award 60 points to Slytherin House on behalf of Azula Ryland.” Dumbledore raised his goblet in a toast, “Congratulations Slytherins for winning the House Cup!”

If Draco thought that the roars of the Gryffindors were deafening, they had nothing on the yells that Slytherin House emitted once it became clear that they had won the cup. Pansy was hugging him tightly and both Crabbe and Goyle were grunting their approvals in the background, but Draco didn’t pay much attention to that. Instead, he sought Azula’s gaze over Pansy’s shoulder, only to find that the brunette was engaged in a stare-off with her brother. If there were ever a scoreboard for the number of wins Zuko and Azula had over one another, he imagined it’d be something like this:

_Zuko – 0_

_Azula –_ _∞_

* * *

Azula was glad for the chance to return to the Fire Nation. While it was true that she hadn’t gotten the opportunity to practice her firebending as much, she figured that all her near-death experiences that year qualified as training. Being away from Hogwarts for the summer gave her the chance to get away from the insufferable Pansy Parkinson. The pug-faced Slytherin had an unhealthy obsession with Draco, and anyone who could be so entranced by a single person sickened her.

At least in the Fire Nation, she could finally reunite with Mai and Ty Lee. Letters to them had been scarce, – she _had_ been busy after all – but being around people who didn’t blatantly fear or disrespect her would be a wonderful change of scenery. She had to admit, though, that while the majority of her fellow classmates at Hogwarts had been infuriating, she _did_ end up meeting some worthwhile acquaintances.

The first would be Hermione. The brown-haired Gryffindor’s sheer intelligence was inspiring, and while she didn’t surpass _Azula’s_ level of common sense, she came close enough that Azula didn’t entirely despise her company. She was certainly better than the likes of Potter and Weasley.

The second would have to be Draco. Admittedly, the two of them had gotten off to a negative start, but as the year progressed, Azula realized that there was more to the blond Slytherin than his petty disagreements with Potter. He possessed a cunning mind that Azula could respect, and he wasn’t _terrible_ company to keep. He had seen her at her most _Zuko_ -like, and still had the decency to say nothing about it. For that, he had earned a spot as her companion.

As the scarlet Hogwarts Express pulled into Platform 9 ¾, Azula could make out the imposing figure of her father. Judging by the way his eyes followed the train, it was obvious that he had spotted her. Taking a deep breath, Azula sought to calm her nerves.

“Are you alright?” Draco’s quiet voice broke through her scattered thoughts. The two of them hadn’t spoken once since getting on the train, and Azula appreciated the serenity while it lasted.

Mask falling into place, Azula squared her shoulders. There was no reason to be nervous. She was going to get off the train and walk over to her father, the most important person in her life. She was his favorite child, and as such, there was no reason for her to think that anything bad was going to happen.

 _Right_?

“I’m fine.” Azula sniffed haughtily. The raised eyebrow Draco gave her in return once the train stopped told her that he didn’t believe her, but he didn’t press the issue. Instead, he pointed towards the area where her father was standing.

“That’s your father, right?” Draco asked.

A brief nod was Azula’s answer.

“He’s standing next to my father.” Draco informed her.

Upon closer scrutiny, Azula realized that her father was standing next to a tall blond man. Narrow nose, stormy gray eyes, and a _holier than thou_ demeanor, this man was definitely Draco’s father. The two didn’t appear to be speaking. In fact, it looked as if they were staunchly ignoring the other’s presence.

Azula shared a quick look with Draco before retrieving her luggage from the overhead compartment, watching as he did the same. She noted that Draco didn’t seem overly thrilled to see his father, and resolved to find out why at a later date. For now, they had more pressing matters.

They stepped off of the train together, making their way over to their respective fathers. Azula didn’t miss the calculated gaze that both of their fathers graced their children with. There was no hint of warmth or affection, no sign of having missed their children. Rather, the looks on their faces reminded Azula of the stern generals that often consulted her father. All business.

“Father.” Azula and Draco murmured in unison. At realizing their synchrony, they turned to face each other shortly before returning their attention to their fathers.

Draco’s father – the infamous Lucius Malfoy – curled his lips in distaste, and Azula felt her blood boiling at the insinuation that _she_ of all people wasn’t worthy of being in Draco’s presence. Similarly, her own father bore an unforgiving expression as he stared at Draco silently. The thick tension that had risen in the air made Azula wish, if only for a moment, that she was back at Hogwarts.

“Draco, who is this?” Lucius’ voice was as arrogant as his countenance.

Azula’s own father said nothing, but the pointed look he gave her made it clear that he desired to know who Draco was to her.

“This is my classmate from Hogwarts, father, Draco Malfoy.” Azula answered first, making sure to keep her voice steady.

Never one for being too late, Draco answered his father’s question next.

“This is Azula Ryland, my fellow Slytherin.”

Ozai rubbed at his goatee contemplatively, as Lucius’ eyes lit up in recognition.

“Malfoy.” Ozai said quietly at the same time Lucius said, “Ryland.”

Lucius didn’t let Ozai continue, seizing the opportunity to speak.

“ _Ozai_ Ryland, am I correct? Lucius drawled, and at Ozai’s curt nod, continued, “Younger brother of the _Gryffindor_ Iroh Ryland, yes?”

Azula just barely managed to conceal her shock, but Draco wasn’t as his discreet, his eyes widening in a mix of shock and disbelief. Her Uncle Iroh had been a _Gryffindor_?

“Indeed, you are correct.” Ozai maintained his calm air.

Lucius tutted.

“And what house were _you_ in, Mr. Ryland?” There was a challenge in Lucius’ eyes, and Azula wanted to wipe the amused smile right off of his face.

At Lucius’ question, Ozai smirked, but Azula couldn’t gather the reason why her father wasn’t angry. It was in his very nature to flare up whenever someone insinuated he was a lesser man, and it suddenly dawned on Azula that she herself didn’t know what house her father was in.

“I was educated at an institution far more superior than Hogwarts.” Ozai waved Lucius off casually. _Challenge accepted_ , “But I suppose that based on your question, _you_ settled for Hogwarts? Shame.”

Ozai’s tone had shifted from amused to condescending, and judging by the rapid reddening of Lucius’ face, his words had been taken to heart. The elder blond grabbed Draco roughly by the shoulder, an action that made the younger blond wince. Azula spared him a sympathetic glance. It wasn’t his fault that his father couldn’t match up to hers.

“And what of your wife?” Lucius tried, “I don’t suppose you could’ve found as good of a wife as I have. I married into the House of Black. I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”

“Unfortunately, you are correct.” Ozai sighed, and Azula’s grin turned into a quick look of shock before she neutralized her features once more. What was her father doing giving Lucius the upper hand like that? “My wife proved… _unfit_ for the role of being my significant other, so I had to dispose of her.”

Lucius’ face paled at the cavalier use of the word _dispose_ , as did Draco’s, and if Azula were being honest, she couldn’t blame them. While it was true that she had never gotten along with her mother, – the foolish woman was always too concerned with her _precious Zuko_ to pay Azula any mind, it was another thing entirely to think of all the meanings behind the word _dispose_.

At seeing Lucius’ rattled state, Ozai smiled, his features confident as he gripped Azula’s shoulder firmly. As a familiar tugging began in her navel, Azula knew that her father had activated a portkey.

“Farewell Lucius.” Were the last words Azula registered from her father, and before she could even bid Draco goodbye, her world began to spin rapidly.

Just as the first time she had traveled by portkey, Azula closed her eyes tightly, waiting impatiently for the world around her to stop spinning. Once it did, she opened them, breathing a sigh of relief at seeing the Fire Nation palace a short distance away.

 _She was finally home_.

* * *

“Don’t bother unpacking your things.” Ozai said to Azula casually once they had finished their dinner. The meal, as usual, had been a silent affair between only the two of them. The servants were not allowed to eat with them, and with Zuko, her mother, and Uncle Iroh gone, they were the only members of the royal family left, “You won’t be spending the summer here.”

Azula almost choked on the last bit of food she was chewing, but managed to stop herself. An icy feeling rose in her chest, but still, she kept her face as blank as possible.

“Oh?” Azula replied calmly, the serenity in her tone the complete opposite of her mental state, “Will we be traveling?”

“Not _we_ , _you_.” Ozai clarified, “It has come to my attention that a boy by the name of Harry Potter is quite the talk of the Wizarding World. He supposedly has the power to defeat dark wizards, and I want to know everything about it.”

Azula had to refrain from snorting. Usually, she did whatever her father ordered her to, no questions asked, but this sounded ridiculous to her. Harry Potter was the least extraordinary person she knew.

“Father, I’ve been in the presence of Potter this entire year, and I can assure you that there’s nothing special about him.” Azula spoke up, “I feel like this would be a waste of your time.”

Ozai stared coldly at her, and Azula immediately knew she had said the wrong thing. Her father walked around the table until he was standing directly in front of her. Once close enough, he yanked her out of her chair by the front of her school robes. It took all of Azula’s effort to not show how much her father was intimidating her.

“I don’t believe I asked you for your opinion.” Ozai’s voice was a deadly calm, “ _Did I_?”

Azula swallowed, the saliva lodged in her throat with her sudden fear. She should’ve known better than to think she had the right to offer her perspective.

“No, Father.” Azula answered quietly, careful to keep her tone submissive. If her father got the impression that she was being feisty, her punishment was sure to be more severe, “I apologize.”

With Azula’s words, Ozai let go of her, allowing her to fall disgracefully to her feet. Blinking in surprise, Azula was surprised with how lenient her father was being with her. Usually, when he deemed her disrespectful, he would…

 _Smack_!

The sudden stinging in Azula’s left cheek disrupted her thought process. She had thought too soon, and as she tentatively raised a hand to her cheek, she noticed the fire in her father’s eyes. She braced herself for further impact, willing herself not to cry, but another blow never came.

“You are to be ready to leave in the morning.” Ozai never rose his voice, yet it was anything but soothing, “I have already arranged with Potter’s relatives that you will stay with them for the summer. I expect that you will do me proud.”

“Yes, Father.” Azula croaked.

Ozai stared at her for a moment more, shaking his head in apparent disgust before waving her off the same way he did Lucius Malfoy.

“You are dismissed.”

Azula didn’t hesitate. Curtseying as swiftly as she could, Azula left the dining room, ignoring the looks of pity she received from the palace maids who followed her. She didn’t stop walking.

“I want to be left alone.” Azula said sharply, listening as the following footsteps gradually faded.

With a heavy sigh, Azula pushed open the doors to her room, closing it gently behind her. She tenderly felt her still stinging cheek, feeling the beginnings of welts on her skin. She traipsed lazily over to a nearby mirror, observing the damage to her face. As she suspected, her cheek was really red, but fortunately, not bruised. She didn’t feel like coming up with an excuse to give Potter as to why her face looked like she got in a fight with a turtle duck… _and lost_.

The sound of her bedroom door opening prompted Azula to stand erect. She knew without looking that it was her father, and she didn’t want any perceived weakness to be the reason why he hit her again. She knew from past experiences that if he felt the need to discipline her more than once in a single day, the following strikes would be far more severe.

A closer look at her father told her that he had two papers in his hands. He placed them on her dresser, scrutinizing Azula carefully. Once satisfied with whatever he was looking for, Ozai nodded to himself.

“These are from Mai and Ty Lee.” Ozai explained, “Consider yourself lucky that I’m allowing you to have these.”

Without waiting for her response, Ozai left her room, and Azula let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. As much as she wanted to see what those letters contained, she was too emotionally drained to even look at them. She had more vital things on her mind, like getting into the mindset that she’d be spending the summer with _Harry Potter_ of all people instead of being in her own home.

_For Agni’s sake, she hadn’t even had any fire flakes in almost a year._

Shaking her head of her troublesome thoughts, Azula vowed not to let Potter ruin her summer. She would _not_ fail her father. If he wanted her to spy on Potter, no matter how useless an endeavor she felt it would be, Azula would do it dutifully, asking no more questions.

After all, her father always had a logical reason for the things he made her do.

 _Right_?

* * *

Harry Potter yawned as he stretched in his little cupboard under the stairs at Number Four Privet Drive. A quick glance at his alarm clock told him that it was seven in the morning. Despite the early hour, he knew that because it was a weekend, his aunt, uncle, and cousin wouldn’t be awake for at least another hour.

Fumbling blindly for his glasses in the dark cupboard, Harry stood up carefully, mindful of hitting his head on the cupboard’s ceiling as he had many times in the past. Quietly, so as not to let his footsteps be heard, he made his way to the kitchen, already thinking of what he would cook the Dursleys for breakfast.

_Was scrambled eggs and bacon too basic? Perhaps, he could whip up some French toast? Maybe some toast and jam? A bagel with cream cheese? Tea? Hot chocolate? Waffles? Pancakes?_

The options were virtually endless, so Harry decided on seeing what was in the pantry first before deciding. However, as he passed the kitchen on his way to said pantry, a figure sitting leisurely at the table caught his attention. His jaw dropped open on its own accord.

Dark and spiteful golden eyes. Coal black hair. A fair complexion and a cruel smirk on her lips. Harry couldn’t believe his terrible luck.

“Did you miss me, Potter?” Azula Ryland grinned from her place at Harry’s dining room table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might be updated on Saturday instead of this Friday. I'm getting over a cold and have been crazy busy, and just don't have the energy to finish the last few hundred words and proofread.


	12. Adjustments

It was customary for Azula to wake up early in the morning for firebending training. This was a practice that she had engaged in since she was old enough to know what firebending was, and as such, it was practically a part of her very being. While it was true that she hadn’t gotten much practice at Hogwarts, _some_ practice was better than _none_ , and it was this lesson she realized on the first day she spent with Potter’s relatives, the Dursleys.

From the moment she got to Number Four Privet Drive, she knew that the Dursleys were unforgivably lazy, and would more than likely not be awake at five in the morning on a Saturday. Though she usually woke up at four herself, Azula decided she would indulge herself just this once and sleep for an extra hour. She could, after all, reclaim her lost time by firebending even harder in the next hour.

As she was soon finding to be a recurring theme in her short life, things did not always go the way she wanted them to.

Walking quietly through the Dursley home, Azula took in her surroundings. Pictures, more than likely of family members, were hung all about the house. Potter was featured in none of them, but she couldn’t blame her magicless summer hosts. If she had a house of her own, she wouldn’t want pictures of Potter plastered all over it. Instead, pictures of Potter’s large cousin – _Dudley_ – were showcased everywhere, placed next to pictures of his twig thin mother, Petunia, and human balloon of a father, Vernon. Wrinkling her nose in disgust, Azula was discouraged to know that the darkness of early morning made the home seem even smaller than it was, a feat that she didn’t think possible. Then again, not all homes could be as grand as the Firinian palace.

Stopping near a cupboard, Azula opened its door. If she was awake this early, she may as well get to know the area that she would be inhabiting for the majority of her summer. Of all the things she expected to see in such a despicably small area – maybe towels, spare clothes, old toys – she hadn’t been expecting to see a sleeping Harry Potter. For a moment, she contemplated waking him. It _would_ be fun to see him groggy and annoyed by her presence, but she shook her head of the thought. It would be better for him to be fully awake for the surprise of her arrival. After all, she didn’t want Potter trailing behind her during her exploration of the home.

Slowly closing the cupboard behind her, Azula continued her exploration of the Dursley home, growing more and more unimpressed with her surroundings. Just as she thought she couldn’t get anymore disappointed, she reached the pitiful area that they called their backyard. The grass enveloping the area was neatly mowed, she would give them that, but otherwise, there was no true appeal. The lawn chairs were unappealing and pasty in color. The color scheme of the backyard was dreadfully plain, a stark contrast from the vibrant red and gold that Azula’s own room at the palace boasted.

She spotted a white picket fence – _how typical_ – and made her way over to it. Upon realizing that it wasn’t much taller than her, she stood on the tips of her toes, peering over to look at the adjacent yard. The set-up was just about the same. Neatly trimmed grass. Foldable lawn chairs. Dull colors. Azula pursed her lips in frustration as she dwelled on just how easy it would be for one of the Dursleys’ neighbors to view her firebending. Not that she had a problem with people watching her, per se, but she got the innate feeling that it wouldn’t go over too smoothly given her circumstances.

Sighing deeply, Azula returned inside, heading towards the Dursley guest room where she was staying. She was once again taken aback by how small it was, but tried to push that thought to the back of her mind. It wouldn’t do to dwell on things she couldn’t change. It would only serve to anger her more. She reached under the tiny queen’s sized bed for the two letters she had stashed there – one from Mai, and one from Ty Lee. Once she had retrieved them, she sat down on the bed, pondering which one to open first. In her present mindset, she figured she’d open Ty Lee’s first. The girl, who always made it a habit of wearing pink-themed clothes, was known for her great optimism, and Azula was of the impression that maybe her words would help to improve her mood.

_Zula,_

_It’s been a while since we last talked. How are you?? I know you must be busy doing magicky stuff, so I won’t make this letter long. You remember when we were kids and you told me that if I wanted something, I had to seize the opportunity? Well, living with six identical sisters is really messing with my aura, and I need a sense of freedom before I go completely crazy._

_I’ll be leaving to join the circus by the end of August. It’s somewhere in the Earth Kingdom. I don’t know if I’ll see you before then, but I really hope so. I can’t imagine not being able to see one of my bestest friends before I leave. Your father told me not to expect to see you this summer, ~~but I really hope he was wrong.~~ but I believe in miracles _(Azula didn’t miss the crossed-out words, but chose to ignore them. Her father was _never_ wrong) _. I want you to remember that no matter what, I’ll always love you Azula. I do_ (Azula tensed at the words. They perfectly reflected the sentiment that the cursed mirror insisted her mother felt, and she refused to feel that vulnerable again) _._

_Sending you all positive energy, your friend,_

_Ty Lee_

Once she had finished reading Ty Lee’s letter, Azula was calm for all of five seconds before a deep scowl emerged on her features. How _dare_ Ty Lee decide to leave the Fire Nation. The rational part of Azula told her that she was being hypocritical (she _had_ been at Hogwarts for the majority of the past year), but she didn’t care about that. She should’ve been able to count on her friend to be in the Fire Nation, but it appeared that she couldn’t.

Huffing quietly to herself, Azula discarded Ty Lee’s letter on the bed, not caring as it missed her intended target altogether and fell slowly to the floor. She reached for Mai’s letter, hoping that her cynical friend could give her some news that she actually _wanted_ to hear. As she read the letter, she understood all too well that that wouldn’t be the case.

_Azula,_

_Your father has made mine the mayor of New Ozai. My father has never been able to pass up an opportunity to grovel, so obviously, he took it. Mother’s ecstatic about the move. She’s always wanted to be the wife of a prominent society man, and now she finally has the chance._

_Life is still boring in the Fire Nation. I suppose it’ll get more interesting when we move. I’m not sure if Ty Lee has already told you, but my family intends on moving at the start of July. I can’t bring myself to truly miss anything about the Fire Nation, if I’m being honest. With you and Zuko gone, my life has been considerably less interesting. I’ll admit – it was fun for a while watching you torment Zuko. The two of you hardly cared about propriety, and that provided such a stark contrast to the expectations my mother tried to instill in me._

_Mother gave birth to a baby in September. His name is Tom-Tom, and she insists that his name is more Firinian than my own. I don’t really care._

_I don’t see the point in dragging out this letter anymore than necessary. We’ve never been ones for empty talk, have we?_

_Mai_

The ending to Mai’s letter was abrupt, just like its writer, and Azula wasn’t truly surprised. When she looked at the letter’s date, – _October 12 th_ – she couldn’t help the brief sense of sadness in her. _Why hadn’t her father sent her these letters earlier_? As she usually did with negative thoughts pertaining to her father, she pushed them away. Her father only wanted the best for her. He didn’t want her filled with needless distractions while she was trying to focus on her studies.

Still, she couldn’t get rid of the sinking feeling that had risen in her chest.

* * *

Azula had to admit – seeing Potter at his most shocked was terribly amusing to her. By the time seven in the morning came around, she wasn’t too surprised that the Dursleys were still fast asleep, but she hadn’t pegged Potter for an early riser.

Glasses askew, hair tussled, and emerald eyes widened in disbelief. It was obvious that Potter didn’t expect to see her so early in the morning. Reaching into the bowl she had found while rummaging around, Azula picked up a handful of fire flakes, placing the luxury treats in her mouth. She savored the flavor, feeling a lazy, yet satisfied, smile drift onto her face. She was glad that she decided to stash some of the delectable Firinian snack in her suitcase.

“Why are you here?” Potter’s voice reminded her that he was still there.

Chewing her food slowly, Azula swallowed. She didn’t intend on giving Potter the satisfaction of choking. If the downward twitch of his mouth was any indication, he wasn’t happy to see her.

“You and I are going to spend the rest of the summer together.” Azula grinned mockingly, “Won’t that be fun?”

The incredulous look on Potter’s face screamed a resounding _no_.

“How did you even get here?” Potter frowned, “Shouldn’t you be somewhere, I don’t know, _across the world_?”

Azula shrugged. She mentally replayed the scene in which she arrived at the Dursleys. She didn’t know _what_ her father had done to arrange her stay, but she knew that whatever he did left them cowering. By the time she arrived, they were eager to please, just like the weak individuals they were.

“That’s none of your concern, Potter.” Azula mused, “Now don’t you have anything better to do than bothering me this early in the morning?”

Potter looked like he wanted desperately to retort, to say something that he thought would get her to shut up, but instead, he sighed.

“I have to make breakfast for everyone.” He murmured so quietly that Azula was half-convinced he hadn’t said anything at all, “I’ve been doing it for years.”

Azula raised a brow. She wasn’t close to Potter – not in any sense of the word – but she hadn’t realized that he had taken such a low position in his family. He was practically the _Zuko_ of the Dursley household.

“Well, you’re certainly not cooking for me.” Azula scoffed, pushing any pity she may have been having for the Gryffindor far out of her mind, “How do I know you won’t poison me?”

Potter stared at her in confusion.

“Are you this paranoid with everyone?”

“It’s not paranoia if it can save my life.”

Potter blinked at her for a moment, and Azula seized the chance to continue talking.

“Anyways, while I’m here, consider your servant duties null and void.” Azula said nonchalantly, taking in as Potter’s eyes gradually widened, “Take this lesson from me – _worry about yourself_ , not your family’s expectations. It’s easier that way.”

A vague image of her father entered her mind. Standing over her. Hitting her. Fire whipping her. Slapping her. Calling her every name in the book. Telling her that she was worth nothing. Forcing her to retreat into a ball of submission, lest she turn into Zuko. Lest she turn traitorous like her mo –

 _He only means the best. He only has the best intentions. He doesn’t mean it when he hits you so hard that your skin turns several shades darker. He’s only trying to make you the best you can be. He’s only making sure you don’t turn into your brother_.

Azula got the distinct feeling that if she didn’t repeat that mantra in her mind, as consistently as she practiced her firebending, she would lose her mind. She noticed Potter staring at her strangely, an unreadable emotion in his eyes. Was that sorrow? Pity? Azula didn’t know. All she knew was that she didn’t like it.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Azula asked stiffly, narrowing her eyes into the most intimidating glare she could muster. There was absolutely _no_ reason for Potter to pity her, and she wasn’t about to give him one.

Potter continued to stare at her silently, his brows knitted downward. He seemed to be at a loss for words. For once in his life, he didn’t have a sassy comeback. He sat down at the table next to her, still not saying a word. Biting his lip, he seemed to be lost in thought, tormented by something he wasn’t divulging.

“My cousin abuses me, you know?” Potter said quietly. His voice wasn’t more than a whisper, but Azula heard him all the same, “He’s broken my ribs before. Uncle Vernon would do it himself, but he thinks it’s better to prime Dudley to do it. Teach him the _proper_ way to deal with _vermin_. He, my Uncle Vernon I mean, tells me all the time that I should’ve died with my parents. Even lied to me about the circumstances of their death to spite me.”

Azula refused to acknowledge the similarities between Potter’s abuse and her own. Scratch that. She wasn’t being _abused_. Her father was teaching her _lessons_. There were actual, logical _reasons_ for why he was so hot and cold with her.

“Why are you telling me this?” Azula asked him coldly. There was no reason to let Potter know how self-reflective his words were causing her to be.

Potter’s glance trailed down from her eyes, and at first, she thought he was staring at her lips. She moved to slap him before the realization dawned on her, as if she had been doused with ice cold water.

 _Her cheek_.

She had tried her best to ice her wound, refusing to allow the servants to help her. She had figured that it wasn’t as noticeable as it was when she first received the wound, but judging by Potter’s concerned look, she hadn’t done too good of a job. Rather than shrinking into her seat and avoiding his gaze, she straightened up, staring piercingly at him. Potter didn’t flinch.

“Zuko said you lived with your father.” Potter’s words were meant to be a firm statement, but ended up leaving his lips as an unsure question.

Azula pursed her lips, contemplating what angle he was playing at. Surely, he was only this concerned because he wanted to use her potential slip-ups against her.

“What of it?” Azula snapped.

“Nothing.” Potter raised his hands defensively, treating her as if she were some sort of fragile, caged animal, “I just – never mind.”

The silence between them was thick. Granted, Azula usually thrived in uncomfortable situations – being able to manipulate the other person’s emotions against them, – but there was something about this silence that made her desperate to fill it.

“Look, for the summer that I’m here, you’ll be treated like a decent human being.” Azula said finally, exhaling deeply. It was too early in the morning for her to already want to be enveloped by sleep again, “I can’t promise you that _we’ll_ be civil the whole summer, but I can assure you that you’ll be treated better.”

It was Potter’s turn to look as somber as Azula felt.

“And how do you propose we do that?” Potter’s tone indicated that he didn’t believe in Azula’s previous promise.

Azula rolled her eyes, falling back into her confident demeanor. It was a welcome change from whatever the hell she was feeling before.

“Just leave that to me.”

* * *

Draco expected that when he returned home for the summer, he’d feel happy, or as close to happiness as he’d ever felt. He thought that he might see his father more often, get to bond with him. Maybe that was wishful thinking, curtesy of that strange mirror he had seen while night exploring with Azula, but he’d had a shred of hope that being home for the summer would actually be fun.

 _He was wrong_.

His father hadn’t said a word to him on the journey home from Kings Cross station. Ever since his encounter with Ozai Ryland, – Azula’s father – he had been silently furious, his cheeks an angry and unattractive shade of red, his brows continually pointing downwards, and his fists clenched tight to the point of whitening. By the time they had reached Malfoy Manor, the decorative peacocks on the lawn their only welcoming, Draco was surprised that his father hadn’t burst a blood vessel.

“Father.” Draco chanced, trying to gauge his father’s level of ire, “Are you alright?”

In hindsight, that was a stupid question to ask. _Of course_ his father wasn’t alright. He’d just been humiliated by a man he’d just met and if there was one thing to know about Malfoy men, it was that damaging their pride was a very volatile thing to do.

Draco hadn’t expected his father to stop walking abruptly. He stopped next to him and waited for the older blond to say something, _anything_ really. Instead, he stepped closer to him, and Draco refrained from taking a step back. He wasn’t some weak _Hufflepuff_. There was absolutely no reason for him to be afraid of his own father.

“My own _son_ ,” Lucius spat out the word, “doesn’t feel the need to defend his father’s reputation, and you have the _nerve_ to ask me such an inane question?”

Draco opened his mouth to reply, but Lucius didn’t let him.

“How _stupid_ can you be?”

It wasn’t the first time his father insulted his intelligence, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. By all means, he should’ve been used to his father’s occasionally harsh rhetoric by now, but that didn’t stop his words from stinging him.

“– hanging around that Ryland girl.” Draco had tuned his father out, and now struggled to catch up with his words.

“What did you say?” Draco asked hesitantly.

Lucius gave him a sharp slap to the back of his head, and Draco stiffened in order to refrain from wincing. If he showed his father that his actions got to him, he knew that they would only get worse. Truth be told, Draco didn’t think he had a _terrible_ life. His father, for the most part, was…caring in _some_ sense of the word. Whether or not he genuinely loved him was up for debate, but he wasn’t always awful.

“And now my only son is deaf?” Lucius scoffed, “I told Narcissa we’d be better off having a spare son in case you turned out inferior, but she insisted that you were _perfect_.”

Draco bit the inside of his cheek as hard as he could, the pain distracting him from his father’s cold words. If he bit hard enough, he could pretend that he wasn’t such a failure in his father’s eyes.

“I _said_ I do not want you consorting with that Ryland girl.” Lucius repeated, a stony glint in his identical gray eyes. Draco had never wished he’d inherited his mother’s azure eyes more, “If she’s anything like her father…”

Lucius let himself trail off, grimacing. Draco’s eyes widened at his father’s wishes. Generally, he would take whatever his father said in stride. He listened to his father when he told him that mudbloods were destroying the wizarding race. He listened when he was told that blood traitors were just as bad. He even listened when his father told him that he should’ve used a contraceptive with his mother, if only to prevent him from being born, and while that hurt, he had never before had his friends considered liabilities. Granted, Draco didn’t have many friends – there was Azula, Astoria, and Blaise; and Crabbe and Goyle were more so cronies than anything else – but this was a step too far for him.

“You can’t just tell me to _ignore_ her existence.” Draco retorted hotly, feeling a surge of anger – _his father was being unreasonable_ – and fear – _it wasn’t everyday he talked back to his father_ – well up in his veins, “She’s my _friend_ , and nothing you say can –”

The feeling of a wand pressed into his neck erased all the bravery that Draco previously had. The tip was burning into his flesh, and he knew that there would be a mark when it was removed. The look in Lucius’ eyes was all too familiar.

“ _Draco_. _Lucius_. _Malfoy_.” Lucius emphasized each part of Draco’s name by pressing his wand harder into his skin. At this point, Draco was surprised that his father hadn’t broken skin with how hard his grip on his wand was, “You _will_ listen to me, is that understood?”

Draco remained defiantly silent, glaring up at his father. He knew his father hated not getting immediate obedience more than anything, so he resolved to push his buttons.

“I _said_ , is that _understood_?” The tip of Lucius’ wand burned a little more, and Draco couldn’t stop a hushed gasp from leaving his lips at the painful sensation.

Draco gritted his teeth, determined not to say anything. He wouldn’t give his father the satisfaction. Lucius moved away abruptly, a cold smirk replacing his previously infuriated facial features. He knew before his father pointed his wand at him was coming.

“ _Petrificus Totalus_.” The incantation left Lucius’ lips before Draco could blink, and within seconds, he found himself face first on the Malfoy family lawn, “I’ll leave you here to think about your unacceptable insubordination. Maybe _then_ you’ll regain your common sense.”

Draco didn’t need to hear his father’s deliberate steps to know that the older man had left him alone. Well, not _completely_ alone. There was still the matter of the Malfoy-owned peacocks that were now pecking curiously at the back of his robes. Through the uncomfortable feeling of the beaks, Draco knew that his mind was made up.

 _He wouldn’t call off his friendship with Azula Ryland, no matter what his father thought_.

* * *

Azula sat on her bed with Potter, letting loose a reluctant laugh. The Gryffindor’s impression of his slightly older cousin was comical, and Azula didn’t know that the boy had such a sense of humor.

“I can’t believe you got the Dursleys to treat me like I’m worth something.” Potter was saying, “I think Uncle Vernon pissed himself when he saw you firebend for the first time.”

Azula grinned.

“Of course he did. Even _he’s_ not stupid enough to argue with someone more powerful than him.” Azula declared confidently, “Though who knew muggles were so afraid of fire?”

Potter stared at her incredulously.

“When someone thinks you’re about to flay them if they don’t heed your demands,” He said, his eyes wide, “you’d _think_ they’d express at least _some_ concern for their own safety.”

Azula couldn’t argue with his logic.

“I suppose you’re right, Potter.” She allowed.

The Gryffindor boy frowned, a peculiar emotion in his eyes.

“You _could_ call me Harry, you know?” Potter surmised, shrugging his shoulders casually, “You’d think that after helping me like that, we’d be on a first name basis.”

Azula scoffed.

“I wouldn’t exactly call it helping, Harry.” Azula humored her classmate’s request. She was in a good mood, and didn’t want to mar it by starting a needless argument over something as simple as titles, “You should know by now that no one’s allowed to pick on you except for Draco and I. That’s just an insult to us, and you know it.”

Harry seemingly ignored her words, most notably the part where she insinuated that Draco was allowed to bother him as well.

“Well, I owe you one anyway.” Harry said finally, “Consider me in your debt.”

“ _Sure_.” Azula didn’t believe him for a second.

“I’m serious.” Harry insinuated, “I don’t know about Slytherins, but Gryffindors always keep their word. Name a price, and I’ll pay it. No questions asked.”

Azula couldn’t help but think that the most unintelligent decision of Harry’s life. They weren’t friends; they just happened to be two people who could be civil towards one another for a summer, and happened to be trapped in the same place. Still, as Azula pondered Harry’s promise, she was reminded of her father’s earlier goal – to get to know what was so special about Harry Potter.

She shouldn’t have been as surprised as she was when the most brilliant idea came to her mind, one that would allow her simultaneously please her father and get to see Ty Lee before she left for the circus. She wasn’t sure how Harry would take her proposal, but he _did_ tell her to name her price after all.

“ _Anything_?” Azula stressed, to which Harry nodded, “Fine. Here’s what I want you to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late upload. I really wasn't feeling well yesterday, and didn't have the right mentality to upload. Hope you enjoy this! Next update with definitely be on Monday.


	13. Promises Kept

“You know, for a self-proclaimed _quidditch god_ , you’re pretty bad at this.” Astoria Greengrass laughed as she circled Draco on her broom. She and the Malfoy heir had been practicing their quidditch skills, as Draco wanted to try out for the Slytherin quidditch team during the upcoming school year. His father told him that if he kept his grades up, he could _earn_ a spot on the team, but he wasn’t so sure if his father would keep his word. After all, he was still upset with him for refusing to denounce his friendship with Azula Ryland.

Rather than taking Astoria’s words in stride, Draco scoffed, crossing his arms as he hovered on his own broom without the aid of his hands. He just _knew_ that he’d be perfect for the role of Slytherin seeker, especially since Augustus Sykes, who previously occupied the position, graduated last year.

“Just toss the snitch again, yeah?” Draco said.

Astoria, ever amused, shrugged, throwing the snitch into the air, watching leisurely as it took a second to get a feel of its wings before darting around furiously. Immediately, Draco set after it, determined to catch the snitch before Astoria this time. Unable to shield his eyes from the harsh glare of the afternoon sun, Draco cursed himself for not remembering to wear his goggles. Still, he pursued the snitch, gritting his teeth in intense concentration as it managed to evade him every time he was about to catch it.

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco could see Astoria attempting to fly after the snitch as well. Not that he would ever admit it to her, but the raven-haired girl was a formidable seeker. If she had been a year older, she would have made for some serious competition for the role of Slytherin seeker. Out of the last nine trials they’d had, Astoria had managed to catch the snitch seven of those times. It was for that reason that he _couldn’t_ let her beat him again. He didn’t know if she’d ever let him live it down.

Just as Draco was about to finally catch the snitch, feeling the tiny prop’s wings just barely fluttering against his hand, the forsaken thing shot straight upward, once again evading Draco’s fierce attempts. He hadn’t been the only one to miss the snitch, however. He could vaguely see a dark blur approaching him at top speed, and knew instantly that it was Astoria. With wide eyes, Draco jerked himself to the side, desperate to avoid _another_ collision (they had already knocked each other out the sky earlier that day, and Draco didn’t want a repeat of the almost concussion he suffered. Luckily for the two of them, they hadn’t been too high in the sky).

Unlike Draco, Astoria didn’t swerve out of the way. Instead, she grabbed her broom tightly and abruptly pointed it upward, positioning herself so that she was perpendicular to the makeshift quidditch field. Squinting against the brightness in the air, Draco tried to follow her, inching closer and closer until Astoria’s leg was in reach. He knew he was playing foully, but at this point, he didn’t care. Latching onto her foot, Draco pulled, not hard enough to cause her to fall off her broom, but with enough force that she, in theory, would lose whatever momentum she had been building. What surprised him was that she let him, looking down at him with an easy smile as she allowed one of her slippers to fall to the ground. He stared at her, puzzled, trying to understand why she would relent to him so easily when he got his answer.

 _She already had the snitch_.

Thinking obscenities that he would rarely voice, Draco descended towards the location of the fallen slipper. He had given up his fruitless pursuit of the already captured quidditch prop. By the time he had reached the ground, Astoria had taken to performing aerial tricks, looping her body through the air with ease. Once she noticed that he wasn’t going to fly back up, Astoria grinned mockingly at him.

“What’s the matter, _Drakie_?” Draco regretted ever telling Astoria of Pansy’s horrendous term of endearment for him, “Giving up already?”

Draco waved her off, not deeming it necessary to give her a verbal response. She had already won. What more did she want from him? He watched as she, too, descended, hair blowing behind her in the slight breeze.

“I think you ought to consider being a chaser instead, Draco.” Astoria suggested to him once she had gotten off her broom, draping her arm around his shoulder in a show of comradery, “It wouldn’t do for the almighty heir of House Malfoy to lose his position as Slytherin seeker once I’m old enough to disgrace you.”

“And who said you’re better than me?” Draco asked redundantly. He already knew she was a better seeker than him, but didn’t deem it in his best interest to let her know that _he_ was aware of that fact. The smug look on Astoria’s face let him know that he didn’t have to.

“Besides, you don’t even _like_ being a seeker.” Astoria continued, “Leave that to someone like Blaise. At least he’s good at it.”

Draco frowned.

“Whose side are you on here?”

“Yours, of course.” Astoria rolled her eyes, as if the answer should’ve been obvious to Draco, “But I wouldn’t be a good friend if I inflated your ego when I should’ve been truthful with you.”

Draco contemplated her words silently. She was right. The snide part of him reminded him that she was usually right, but the stubborn side longed to fight her on the matter.

“It doesn’t matter what I like to do.” Draco sneered, “Father said he’d only let me play if I end up a seeker like him. Regardless of whether or not I’m a better chaser, or the fact that I prefer it to seeking, I’ll never get Father’s endorsement by trying to be a chaser.”

Astoria let loose a chuckle, and as Draco frowned at her, her chuckles evolved into full-on laughter. Draco didn’t see what was so funny about the situation.

“ _Draco_ , _Draco_ , _Draco_.” Astoria shook her head, immediately dispelling herself of whatever thoughts amused her, “You are singlehandedly the most stubborn person I’ve ever met.”

“ _Excuse_ –”

“If you want to get on the Slytherin quidditch team, you don’t need to use your father’s name to achieve that goal.” Astoria cut off Draco’s indignant retort, “You’re a _Slytherin_. You need to make Flint understand that you’re the only self-preserving choice for him. Daphne told me that Tommy Ravenwood is considering stepping down as chaser this year, so now’s your chance.”

Draco took a moment to think about Astoria’s words. The idea _did_ sound appealing, but it wasn’t often that he did things on his own without his father’s influence. Truth be told, he wasn’t entirely sure that he could pull it off. Astoria seemed to have the utmost faith in him, though, and he was grateful to have a friend like her.

“Look.” Astoria placed a calming hand on his shoulder, hazel eyes gleaming earnestly, “Just promise me you’ll at least think about it.”

With a relenting sigh, Draco nodded. That much he could do.

“I promise.”

* * *

Had anyone told Azula that she would be the passenger of a car, she would’ve laughed. She understood that the Fire Nation was a bit more archaic than the rest of the world in that they didn’t use cars. Walking was preferred, and for the rare noble (but mainly royalty), palanquins could be arranged.

Had anyone told her that she would be in a _flying_ car with Harry and three of the Weasley brothers, words couldn’t even describe what she would’ve thought of them. The idea was _preposterous_ , _nonsensical_ , _absolutely ridiculous_ , but as she stared wide-eyed out of the window of her guest room, she couldn’t help but think that ever since she started Hogwarts, she’d ended up in some really crazy situations.

“Are you coming?” Harry yelled to her from the car, struggling to get his owl’s cage in through the door. It didn’t make sense for him to keep his voice hushed anymore. If the Dursleys hadn’t been awake already, the noisy engine of the car definitely should’ve woken them up by now.

“We’re bringing _her_?” The youngest male Weasley exclaimed in horror, staring at his green-eyed best friend in disbelief, “Harry, _no_.”

Azula paid no attention to the redhead’s rant. She didn’t care whether or not he approved of her. If you asked her, he was being pretty ungrateful, considering all the times last year that she inadvertently saved his skin by helping Harry. Needless to say, if it would bother Weasley so much, then Azula _had_ to go with them.

“Move over.” Azula grunted with the effort of moving her suitcase into the strange automobile, deciding it was best if she held her own owl cage on her lap. Her owl, Sapphira, hooted in disgruntlement, unhappy with being shuffled about.

Reluctantly, the younger Weasley in the car moved over, making room for Azula to sit. The crashing of a door in the background told Azula that one of the Dursleys had woken up, most likely Vernon, as the obese man had a horrific temper.

“You get back inside right this instance!” Vernon bellowed, and a quick glance showed that the Dursley patriarch had reddened cheeks, a tell-tale sign of his anger. The man was scowling so deeply that Azula wondered how he hadn’t already passed out from the strenuous effort of maintaining his façade of anger, “You listen to me, _boy_!”

One of the Weasley twins – Azula guessed that it was Fred – started up the car, evidenced by the loud sputtering it let out. Azula, having no prior experience with cars, was unsure of exactly what was happening, but apparently, Vernon did. His eyes wide, he made a desperate grab for the car door, nearly falling out of the window as he did so. The Weasley twin at the wheel of the car was cursing furiously under his breath, so Azula surmised that something was wrong with the vehicle’s source of power. Understanding that he needed some kind of distraction for Harry’s abusive uncle, Azula did the only thing that felt natural in the moment.

 _She firebended towards Vernon Dursley_.

Predictably, Vernon stepped swiftly away from the window, falling flat on his backside in the effort to get away from the lethal blue flames. Just beyond Vernon, Azula could make out the silhouette of Dudley, hurriedly moving towards his father. Vernon, by now, was squealing miserably, Dudley trying in vain to comfort his father. Azula couldn’t see what exactly the problem was, – _it wasn’t like she set the darn house on fire, though on second thought, she probably should have_ – but with Dudley’s frightened scream, she became aware.

“Mummy!” Dudley shrieked, his voice panicked as he ran out of the room, “Dad’s on fire! That _freak_ set daddy on _fire_!”

It was only then that Fred Weasley was able to get the car to move, and while Azula wanted to reach out of the window and show Dudley _exactly_ who the freak was, she took deep breaths to calm herself. There would be opportunities for revenge later. As soon as Azula had that line of thought, she winced. The possibility of future opportunities to get back at Dudley Dursley insinuated that she would have to stay with Harry for another summer. While nothing overtly terrible had occurred during the summer, and she managed to refrain from killing Harry, that didn’t mean that she wanted this to be a habit.

Instead of dwelling on such unfortunate thoughts, Azula settled for looking out the window, astutely ignoring the conversation that went on around her.

* * *

Molly Weasley was a plump, motherly woman, Azula soon realized as she was pulled into as fierce of a hug as Harry was given. She awkwardly patted the woman’s back, unused to physical signs of affection from anyone aside from Ty Lee. Within minutes, this woman proved to be a better mother than Azula’s own mother. Granted, the bar was low, but the fact still remained. A young girl stood slightly behind her, blushing as she set her gaze on Harry. Azula assumed that this girl was Ginny Weasley, the youngest of the Weasley bunch. Draco occasionally mentioned her as one of the ridiculously large amount of Weasley children that would soon attend Hogwarts.

“Harry, dear, I’m so glad that you can spend the last two weeks with us before you return to Hogwarts.” Molly cupped Harry’s cheeks tenderly, just as a mother would. Azula looked away in disgust, ignoring the pang in her chest that told her that she would’ve loved to be touched in such a familial manner. The Weasley matriarch turned to her not long after, and it was the burn of her curious brown eyes that prompted Azula to turn around, “And you too – I’m sorry. I don’t believe I caught your name.”

“Azula Ryland.” Azula answered shortly. She was determined to dislike this woman, if only for the fact that she reminded Azula of everything her own mother was not.

Molly hummed quietly to herself, looking up in deep thought.

“Ryland, hm?” Molly questioned, more so to herself than to anyone in particular, “I went to school for a time with Iroh Ryland, though he was a bit older. Would you happen to be related to him?”

Azula, pushing down her annoyance, sighed. Could she ever mention her last name without Uncle Fuddy Duddy being brought up?

“Unfortunately.” Azula reluctantly confirmed, “He is my paternal uncle.”

If Molly caught onto the coldly formal manner in which Azula spoke of her uncle, the only indication of it was the slight downturn in her eyebrows. Nevertheless, she wore a small smile.

“Regardless.” Molly changed the subject, “Why don’t you both make yourselves comfortable while I whip up some breakfast? Ginny and Ronald can show you to –”

“I’m afraid that won’t be necessary.” Azula gave her first smile of the day, though it wasn’t a pleasant one. She turned to Harry expectantly, inwardly rejoicing as he sighed, taking a piece of paper out of his nightshirt. He apparently _could_ keep a promise.

Weaselface frowned.

“What does she mean by that, Harry?”

Harry looked like he’d rather swallow horned slugs than break the news to his best friend and his family, but as he mentioned a month and a half ago, he was a Gryffindor, and Gryffindors kept their word. Clearing his throat theatrically, Harry read the note that he had procured:

_Mr. Potter,_

_You have gained quite the reputation in the Wizarding World, and as such, have piqued my interest. I would like to get to know you better. Initially, I thought it would be best if my daughter, Princess Azula, spent the summer with you and your relatives. However, Azula brought to my attention that it would be more beneficial for all parties if you were to simply come to the Fire Nation to spend the last two weeks. If you are concerned about how to get here, there is no need to worry. The Floo network will suffice._

_I expect that you will accept my gracious invitation._

_Fire Lord Ozai_

When Harry finished reading the letter, no one but Azula was smiling. Harry stared at her morosely, as if pleading with her to find some other way to cash in on his debt to her.

“A promise is a promise, Harry.” Azula whispered saccharinely, in so quiet a tone that she was sure no one else could hear. Louder, she said, “So as you all can see, Harry will not be spending the rest of the summer with you. You may run into him while school shopping, but coincidences are so hard to come by.”

Ginny Weasley looked so devastated that she could cry. The girl probably had a childish infatuation with Harry. The Weasley twins looked stunned, Harry despondent, and Molly crestfallen. Of all the possible reactions to her father’s invitation, the one that amused her the most was the one courtesy of Ronald Weasley.

“ _You_!” Weaselface was so livid that his face quickly resembled a tomato, “You can’t just come here _unwelcomed_ and –”

“Ron, it’s okay.” Harry swallowed thickly, and Azula mentally applauded him for his show of courage, “I already accepted Azula’s father’s offer, and I can’t go back on a promise.”

The look on Harry’s face, however, showed that he desperately wished he could.

“A promise is a promise, Ron.” Harry’s words were directed towards Weaselface, but he was staring straight at Azula, “And I always keep my promises.”

Azula didn’t know who he was trying to convince more, – _himself_ or _her_ – but she didn’t care. She would be going back to the Fire Nation, keeping her father happy, and be able to see Ty Lee for one last time all in one fell swoop. She couldn’t care less about how others felt about it.

* * *

Draco didn’t bother knocking on his father’s study door, instead daring to walk in announced. He feared that if he hesitated, he would lose his nerve and forget his goal entirely. Astoria’s words from earlier that summer rang in his ears, giving him the necessary courage to do what he was about to do. His father didn’t even look up, opting to continue looking at the mass of paperwork on his desk. Amidst the work was a small, leather-bound black notebook that Draco hadn’t seen before.

“Draco.” Lucius acknowledged him, drawing his attention away from the book, “I’m very busy.”

Those were the only words Lucius spoke, but Draco understood the underlying message: _This had better be important_.

“I thought that I’d inform you,” Draco began, and the confidence in his tone prompted his father to finally look up, a questioning look in his eyes, “that while I still intend on joining the quidditch team this year, I will be trying out as a chaser, not a seeker.”

Lucius was silent as he regarded Draco, tapping his fingers lightly against the mahogany desk he sat at. With each tap of his fingers, Draco’s nerves became rattled, but he was determined to focus on the task at hand. He would _not_ submit to his father’s will.

“Is that so?” Lucius murmured, to which Draco gave him a firm nod, “Very well. I do not care what you do. I will provide the team with Nimbus 2001 brooms and a generous financial backing. Is that all you wanted to say, or do you intend on disrupting my day even more than you already have?”

Draco didn’t know whether to laugh or scowl. His father’s mood changes were mercurial at best; he never knew what to expect from the Malfoy patriarch. There was a part of him that wished that he approached his mother first. She was a lot more direct with him, and always had a way of getting Lucius to be less harsh with Draco. Still, Draco rationalized to himself that he needed to speak to his father specifically. If he didn’t, his father would always walk all over him.

“You’re…actually agreeing to this?” Draco had to be sure.

Lucius’ previously expressionless face gave way to a frown.

“Would you like me to change my mind?”

“No!” Draco was quick to deny, “It’s just…I didn’t expect you to be so…”

Draco didn’t know the adjective he wanted to use, but Lucius understood nonetheless.

“Thank your mother.” Lucius was curt, offering no further explanation, and Draco would be sure to keep that in mind, “Anything else?”

Draco nodded to himself. That was one issue out of the way, but he figured that the next one wouldn’t be as easy to work through. If the debacle at Kings Cross station had been any indication, his next order of business was unlikely to go well.

“Yes, actually.” Draco confirmed, “About Azula Ryland…I’m not going to stop being her friend, Father.”

Draco didn’t linger on the topic, choosing to be brief with his words. He didn’t want to speak at length and risk his father interrupting him. His chest seized in anxiety; he wasn’t sure how his father was going to react and if the last time Azula’s name was mentioned was any predictor, Draco would be spending the evening with the peacocks again. Rather than immediately lashing out, Lucius’ hand flickered towards the black notebook before stilling itself. He frowned at his father’s odd behavior, but thought nothing of it, too preoccupied with getting what he wanted.

“Very well.” Lucius said, waving his hand dismissively, “You can have the Ryland girl as company. Do as you wish, but for Merlin’s sake, _leave me alone_.”

Draco didn’t think twice, hurrying out of his father’s study before the elder Malfoy could change his mind. He didn’t miss his mother’s knowing smile as he walked past her in the hallway on his way to his room, returning it with one of his own. If there was anyone he was truly grateful to have on his side in his life, it was his mother.

Opening his room door, Draco entered his private sanctuary, flopping lazily onto his bed. The tension that had been in his body prior to his discussion with his father had left him, leaving him in an almost sleepy state. What he wouldn’t do for a pumpkin pasty right now.

“Dobby!” Draco called suddenly, hardly daring to blink as the Malfoy family house-elf popped into his room, “Bring me some pumpkin pasties and butterbeer.”

The house-elf bowed as low as he could, his nose practically touching his knobby knees.

“Yes, Master Draco.” Dobby’s words were always rushed, and this time was no different, “Dobby will get what Master Draco orders of Dobby.”

With that, Dobby disappeared as abruptly as he entered Draco’s room, leaving Draco to think over his talk with his father. It wasn’t every day that his father was in an agreeable mood. Usually, the elder Malfoy would state his argument in a matter-of-fact tone, leaving absolutely no room for further discussion. This time, however, he conceded to Draco letting him have what he wanted with no fuss at all. The behavior was strange, but not as strange as his father’s focus on the black notebook on his desk. At the mention of Azula, his hand moved as if to touch it before becoming still.

There was a part of Draco that wanted to know what was so special about that book, and why hearing Azula’s name had prompted his father to become even more interested in it. If he had been in a more productive mood, Draco probably would’ve thought about it some more, but as Dobby returned with his requested snacks, he couldn’t be bothered.

“Thank you.” Draco murmured without thinking, taking a bite of his desired snack.

Dobby’s eyes widened, filling with tears. Draco replayed their interaction in his mind, and couldn’t figure out what was making the house-elf so sentimental.

“Master Draco has never thanked Dobby before.” Dobby cried, wringing his hands together, “Only Mistress Narcissa is kind to Dobby. Dobby always knew that Master Draco was kind. Dobby is grateful to have a master like Master Draco. Master Draco is –”

“Enough.” Draco got tired of the elf’s aggrandizing talk. With even wider eyes, Dobby’s lips trembled, and he picked up the nearest heavy book.

“Dobby is sorry for annoying Master Draco. Dobby will punish Dobby. Dobby will –”

“Don’t hit yourself; that’s an order.” Draco didn’t understand why, but the thought of someone inflicting pain on themselves – house-elf of not – didn’t sit well with him, “Just leave me be.”

“Oh thank you, Master Draco.” Dobby squeaked out before remembering Draco’s order, leaving the room with a quick snap of his fingers.

Left alone at last, Draco sighed in relief. He took another bite of his pumpkin pasty and grinned. He hadn’t allowed himself to indulge in the pastry for far too long. With a mouth full of sweets and mind intent on using butterbeer to wash it down, Draco forgot all thoughts of Dobby, his father, Azula, and the small black notebook that occupied his father’s desk.

* * *

Red and gold everywhere, the Fire Nation palace reminded Harry a lot of Gryffindor colors. He doubted he’d ever tell _Azula_ that, though. Regardless of them being on civil terms, she’d probably flay him if he ever pointed out the similarities between her patriotic colors and the Gryffindor emblem.

Harry wasn’t sure what to expect when he arrived at the Firinian palace, but a nervous Azula definitely wasn’t on the list. She was uncharacteristically silent as she led him down a series of spacious hallways, the latter twisting in a way that told Harry that he’d get lost if he ever tried to explore. Finally, they arrived at a large set of black-lined crimson doors, guarded by two men in some kind of armor. The red and black colors of the armor were enough to let Harry surmise that they were army personnel of sorts. They bowed to Azula, who said nothing to them in return.

“Princess Azula.” The guards said in unison, stepping out of the way of the doors. They stared at Harry funnily, bodies ramrod stiff as they regarded him silently. Harry decided that the only reason they said nothing to him was that he was with Azula.

 Azula turned back to glance at him briefly, nodding her head, before pushing open the doors, beckoning for Harry to follow her. He took in the large room before him, admiring the tall golden columns and dimly lit ambiance of the room. In one area of the room, there was a large map of worldly regions that Harry didn’t know existed – _The Water Tribe and The Earth Kingdom_. Named elementally, Harry guessed that as people in the Fire Nation tended to firebend, people in the Water Tribe waterbended and the citizens of the Earth Kingdom earthbended.

Towards the very back of the room was a large throne, shrouded entirely in crackling orange flames. So high were the flames that they were lapping relentlessly at the ceiling, completely obscuring the figure who sat behind it.

Slowly, Azula led Harry towards the flame-encircled throne, her actions no longer as natural appearing as they once were. When they arrived in front of the flames, Azula bowed low, shooting a sharp glance at Harry; she expected him to do the same, and so he did. It was fairly awkward, as he never had to bow in front of anyone or anything before, but if Azula deemed it necessary, who was he to disagree with her in her homeland?

“Father.” Azula said quietly, rising as Harry did, “I present to you Harry Potter.”

Azula’s formalities gave Harry a bad feeling, as he had never known the brunette girl to refer to him in such a polite manner. He figured that whoever her father was, he must’ve been really imposing to command such obedience from her.

Eventually, the high flames got lower, descending until a man could be seen from the waist up. Hawkish amber eyes, sharp jawline, and a cold countenance, this man had to be Azula’s father. Evidently, it was he who Azula got her more intimidating characteristics from. The man rose at his own pace, the flames rising a bit with him, and Harry assumed that he was a firebender, just as Azula was.

“Welcome to the Firinian Palace, Mr. Potter.” Azula’s father clasped his hands together, and though he wore a smile on his face, Harry could tell it wasn’t genuine, “I am Fire Lord Ozai. Azula has told me much about you.”

Harry chanced a glance at Azula and by the confused look on her face, he could tell that she had done no such thing.

“I look forward to getting to know you better over the next two weeks.” Ozai’s smile stretched, and Harry could practically feel Azula stiffen from next to him, “Azula will show you to where you will inhabit.”

At the sudden silence that had dawned on the trio, Harry realized that he was expected to speak.

“It, er, is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Fire Lord.” Harry inwardly cringed at how lame he sounded, “I look forward to the next two weeks as well.”

At seeing Ozai’s grin stretch, a sinking feeling arose in Harry’s stomach. He turned to face Azula again and found that she was wearing an almost apologetic look on her face. _Almost_ , because it _was_ Azula he was talking about. They still weren’t friends, so she had no reason to feel inclined to feel bad for him.

Still, as Harry looked back at Ozai’s amused look, he couldn’t help but wonder why the heck he had chosen to be a noble Gryffindor and keep his word.


	14. Happiness is a Thing of the Past

Harry expected that when he and Azula left the Fire Lord’s chambers, Azula would’ve gone right back to normal, snapping at him because his very presence annoyed her. He figured that when they were out of the presence of the Firinian palace guards, she would’ve relinquished her prim and proper façade and delve straight into making snappy comebacks to whatever he said. Out of all the things he expected, what he wasn’t betting on was her silence.

From the moment they were no longer in the presence of the Fire Lord, Azula had been quiet, allowing Harry to drag his own luggage behind him in complete quiet. This time, the duo took a different series of turns to get to another set of doors. Pushing them open, Azula hurried past, barely holding the doors open for Harry. The latter huffed, but really shouldn’t have been expecting too much kindness from the Slytherin royal.

“Where are we going?” Harry breathed out, the exhaustion from dragging two large suitcases behind him finally taking its toll, “We’ve been walking for forever.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Harry.” Azula scolded without turning around, her pace never slowing, “We’re taking the stairs now, only one flight up.”

Harry’s eyes widened in disbelief. Did she really expect him to walk up the stairs with his heavy luggage? Judging by her lack of hesitation, the answer was obvious to him.

“You can’t really be expecting me to climb stairs with _these_.” Harry gestured wildly to his luggage. Surely, Azula had lost her mind. The girl in question raised a brow, already having taken five steps up a fifteen-step staircase.

“Did you expect me to help?” Azula scoffed, shaking her head patronizingly, “I’m a _princess_ , not a peasant. I don’t do manual labor.”

With a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders, Azula continued up the flight of stairs, turning around to face him as she reached the very last one. She was staring him expectantly, and Harry, for the millionth time that day, questioned why he decided to be in her debt.

Steeling his shoulders, Harry lifted one of the suitcases into his hand by the side handle, walking up the stairs as swiftly as he could. Sensing that Azula wasn’t going to move a muscle to help him, Harry sighed, running back down the stairs to retrieve his remaining piece of luggage before returning to Azula’s side, taking a firm hold of both suitcase handles. He gave Azula a non-genuine smile.

“Happy?” The sarcasm in Harry’s tone couldn’t be any clearer.

As Harry expected, Azula smirked at him, her arms folded loosely over her chest.

“Ecstatic.” Azula murmured in reply, turning on her heel and beginning to walk once more. Harry, as he had been doing the entire day, followed her, “Obviously, the living quarters can’t be on the first floor. That’s just _begging_ for assassins to come in.”

It was official – Azula was the most paranoid individual he’d ever met. The brunette Slytherin seemed to be of the impression that everyone was out to get her, and Harry didn’t know who’d hurt her so badly that she had such a negative view of the world. He had a vague idea, but didn’t want to make the assumption until he had more proof.

So lost in his own thoughts, Harry didn’t realize that they had walked inside what looked to be a bedroom. It was a rational assumption to make, if only because of the crimson-colored bed resting near a wall towards the end of the room. Next to the bed was a single box, sealed tightly with tape.

“This is where you’ll stay.” Azula informed him mechanically, gesturing briefly around the room, “If you think you’ll have any questions, _don’t_.”

As Harry looked around the room, he could just barely see nails in the wall, large enough for picture frames to fit. In the furthest corner of the room, resting haphazardly on the floor, was an unmistakable Gryffindor scarf. Harry furrowed his brows in confusion.

“Whose room is this?” Harry thought aloud, despite the fact that Azula had _just_ told him not to ask her any questions.

The sharp look she gave him in return said that she had the same thought. Regardless, she sighed, surprisingly not chewing his head off for his disobedience.

“It _was_ Lu Ten’s a few years ago, but he’s dead now.” Azula murmured, shaking her head, “I was thinking of having you stay in Zuzu’s old room, but that requires actually going in there, and I have no desire whatsoever to do so.”

Azula’s answer only raised more questions in Harry’s mind. _Who was Lu Ten?_ _Was he another brother to Azula? Was he the owner of the Gryffindor scarf?_

“Tell me about him.” Harry found himself saying before he could stop himself.

Azula gave him a strange look, and Harry was convinced that she wasn’t going to humor him. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she didn’t. It _was_ , after all, a weird question to ask someone who he wasn’t even friends with. The Slytherin girl walked over to the lone box in the room, completely silent as she used one of her sharp fingernails to rip through the tape on the box. At the very top was a single photograph, one Azula carefully picked up before walking back to Harry.

He glanced at the picture, making out three figures: two males and a lone female. Only their side profiles were visible, but from the top-knot on the female figure, Harry knew that he was looking at a younger Azula. He guessed that the smaller of the two male figures was Zuko, but what struck him as odd was the fact that he didn’t have his scar. Harry couldn’t imagine what Zuko would look like without his scar; it seemed like such a permanent fixture in the elder Gryffindor’s life, much like Harry’s scar was in his own life. He noticed that the picture version of Azula wore a carefree grin, most likely laughing gleefully as she was chased by Zuko and another male. They appeared to be in some field of sorts, and from the little Harry had seen of the Fire Nation so far, he couldn’t imagine that this picture had been taken in the volcanic country.

“This,” Azula pointed to the unknown male in the picture, “was my cousin Lu Ten, Uncle Iroh’s son. He was thirteen years my senior, and the only non-disgraceful Gryffindor in my family. At least with him, he was sorted into Gryffindor because he was brave, and not a full-blown traitor like his father and Zuko.”

“How did he die?” Harry asked quietly.

Azula said nothing for a while, a deep frown etched into her features. Harry was afraid that he’d gone too far in his line of questioning when Azula sighed again. She showed no emotion other than the frown on her face, but when she answered, Harry was surprised that she was even dignifying him with a response.

“Fighting for the Fire Nation.” Azula pursed her lips, eyes conflicted, “ _He_ knew how to serve his country, unlike uncle, who backed out when the going got tough. He was a true hero. It’s Uncle Iroh who should’ve died.”

With that, Azula became quiet once more, fixating her gaze on the photo once more. All of Harry’s future attempts to get her attention failed. The Firinian princess seemed more interested in whatever thoughts were currently invading her mind.

* * *

_“Put me down, Lu!” A five-year-old Azula shrieked, beating her tiny fists on the back of her eighteen-year-old cousin, Lu Ten, “You’re gonna drop me!”_

_The man in question shook his head, shoulder-length black hair shaking with the motion. He spun the two of them around, occasionally throwing Azula into the air, eliciting pleased shrieks in return._

_“No can do, Princess Azula.” Azula could tell without looking at Lu Ten that the older Firinian royal was grinning, “Princesses can’t let their feet touch the ground, so I’m gonna protect you from the dirty ground.”_

_Azula wrapped her arms around Lu Ten’s shoulders, anchoring herself so she no longer felt as if she were about to be dropped at any moment. The older royal only tightened his hold on Azula, lifting her higher by her underarms so he could make eye contact with her._

_“Besides.” Lu Ten continued, a knowing smirk on his face, “I seem to recall a certain Firinian princess telling me that I was weak. What better way to showcase my strength than by lifting her up, hm?”_

_Azula shook her head rapidly, wriggling in her cousin’s hold._

_“You can’t hold my words against me.” Azula protested weakly, kicking her legs out, “I’m_ ** _five_**.”

_Lu Ten shifted his embrace so he was now hugging Azula, a luxury that Azula really only let him have. Her parents and grandfather never hugged her. Uncle Iroh’s wife – Ruka – died before she was born. Uncle Iroh himself was always focused on her brother Zuko, and the latter was a mother’s boy, through and through._

_“Royalty must always be held accountable for their words and actions.” Lu Ten insisted sagely, “That’s what dad tells me, at least.”_

_At the mention of her Uncle Iroh, Azula’s smile immediately left her face, replaced with a harsh scowl. At the tender age of five, Azula couldn’t say for certain that she hated anyone, but she just knew that she really,_ **_really_ ** _disliked her uncle. Lu Ten, sensing Azula’s newfound rigid body posture, moved so he was carrying her in one arm._

_“Okay, tell me what’s wrong.” Azula could never fool Lu Ten with her emotions. No matter how stoic she thought she was being, her older cousin was always able to know when something was amiss._

_Azula let out a heavy sigh, one that would’ve been called dramatic had she been older, but suited her age perfectly._

_“I don’t like your father.” Azula was blunt. From a young age, her father had instilled in her the value of being direct with people. It wouldn’t do to play mind tricks. They were a waste of time, and thus, beneath her._

_Lu Ten cocked his brow, and the look prompted Azula to explain herself.._

_“He doesn’t like me anyways.” Azula elaborated._

_“What makes you say that?” Lu Ten was frowning now, and his serious countenance caused the wrong sort of butterflies to swarm about in Azula’s stomach. She didn’t want the only person in the world who she actually liked (even more than her own father at times) to stop loving her because she wasn’t a fan of his father._

_“_ **_Because_ ** _,” Azula emphasized the word, “he only plays with Zuko. That means he cares about him more than me, just like mom.” Azula paused, “I don’t like her either. She’s always yelling at me. I can’t do anything right to her.”_

_Lu Ten’s frown got deeper, and he even relinquished his hold on her, setting her gently on the ground. Though she had initially protested Lu Ten lifting her up, Azula instantly felt the loneliness setting in, wanting nothing more than for her cousin to hold her again. At least then, he wouldn’t be mad at her._

_“My father and your mother love you very much.” Lu Ten said firmly, bending down so they were on the same eye level, “I know they show it differently, but that’s just because…”_

_Lu Ten trailed off, unsure how to continue, and it only proved Azula’s theory right. Her mother and uncle hated her._

_“_ **_See_ ** _?” Azula exclaimed, “Even_ **_you_ ** _can’t come up with a reason why they like me, so obviously, they don’t care about me.”_

_“Stop saying that. It’s not true.” Lu Ten insisted, shaking his head, “They just have a bad way of showing it with you, but you know who_ **_does_ ** _love you the most?”_

_Azula tapped her chin in thought._

_“My dad?”_

_“No.” Lu Ten laughed, shaking Azula slightly and prompting the younger girl to let out a reluctant laugh, “But I suppose he’s pretty high up there. I was talking about me!”_

_“You?” Azula echoed quietly._

_“That’s right.” Lu Ten declared, the earnest look in his eyes emphasizing his words, “I’ll always love you lots.”_

_Azula narrowed her eyes skeptically. The only person who really told her that they loved her was her father. While she believed his sentiments, it didn’t escape her notice that his telling her he loved her usually succeeded her doing something right. If she made a mistake, he scolded her, unlike her mother – Ursa – who would constantly coddle her brother Zuko, even when he failed._

_“You’re not being serious.” Azula crossed her arms over her chest indignantly, as best as she could with her cousin’s hands still on her shoulders, “Everyone likes Zuko more, and you know it. They just pretend to like me so they won’t upset dad.”_

_Lu Ten again shook his head, and Azula didn’t understand why her cousin was trying so hard to convince her._

_“_ **_I_ ** _don’t love Zuko more.” Lu Ten murmured, “I love you both equally, but I’ll always have a soft spot for you.”_

_“Really?”_

_“_ **_Duh_ ** _.” And the colloquial word that left Lu Ten’s lips caused Azula to giggle, “You’re my baby cousin. You’re one of the coolest people I know.”_

_“One of?” Azula scoffed._

_“_ **_I’m_ ** _still alive, aren’t I?” Lu Ten gave her a charming smile, “But the point remains, you never have to doubt that I love you. Even when it feels like the whole world is against you,” Azula’s brows furrowed in confusion. The phrase sounded weird to her, “I will_ **_always_ ** _be here for you.”_

_Azula took a moment to ponder her cousin’s words. She still had her doubts about the whole situation, but didn’t like the funny feeling it caused to settle in her chest. She’d much rather be playing with Lu Ten again, without all the serious talk._

_She was still five, after all._

_“I thought you said princesses weren’t allowed to touch the ground.” Azula changed the subject abruptly, giving her cousin a mocking glare, “What kind of prince are you? And you expect to be Fire Lord someday?”_

_Lu Ten stared at her for a while, a contemplative expression on his face. He said nothing, rubbing at the area on his face where his traditional Firinian goatee was supposed to be. He seemed to have come to some sort of a conclusion, because the next thing Azula knew, she was being hoisted into the air._

_“I’ll always be ready to serve my princess!” Lu Ten yelled dramatically, lifting Azula until she was perched comfortably on his shoulders, “I will never let you down.”_

As Azula reflected on one of the many times she’d spent with Lu Ten, she came to realize one thing. _He didn’t keep his promise_. He went off to war, got himself killed, and left her all alone, with no family truly on her side. Her father came close to filling the hole that Lu Ten had left, but it still wasn’t the same.

She briefly registered Potter staring at her strangely, and she didn’t know how long she’d been spaced out in her thoughts. Pasting a sneer on her face, Azula stared right back at him in the most intimidating manner she could achieve.

“Get yourself sorted out quickly.” Azula sniffed in disdain, turning on her heel as she moved to leave Harry’s current room – _Lu Ten’s room_ – “I have plans for today.”

With no further explanation, Azula left Harry alone, trying in vain to rid herself of the empty feeling that arose within her.

* * *

“Ty Lee, this is the boy who’s spending the last two weeks of summer with my father and I at the palace – Harry Potter.” Azula explained in boredom as she gestured to Harry. When she first thought of how she’d be able to see Ty Lee before she left for the circus, she had no idea that she’d be dragging Harry along with her. Now that the individual details of her plan had come together, she realized that her father would be incensed if she left Harry at the palace by his lonesome. She could’ve suggested that he stay with her Gryffindor classmate in an effort to get to know him better, but she understood her father well enough to know that he did things in his own time, “Harry, this is my good friend Ty Lee.”

Azula knew beforehand that Ty Lee was the touchy-feely type of person. She herself had been hugged tightly by the pink-wearing girl when she arrived at the palace, but she hadn’t expected the girl to practically _pounce_ on Harry.

“You’re such a cutie!” Ty Lee squealed, holding Harry close to her. The emerald-eyed boy’s eyes widened in shock, and he didn’t appear to know what to do with his hands, “It’s _so_ good to meet one of Zula’s magic friends.”

Harry raised an eyebrow as he gingerly hugged Ty Lee back.

“ _Zula_?” He mouthed, and Azula made a slicing motion across her throat in reply. Louder, Harry said, “You don’t have magic, Ty Lee?”

Ty Lee pulled away from him, her long braid swinging as she shook her head.

“ _Duh_.” Somehow, the word coming from Ty Lee’s mouth wasn’t as charming as when Lu Ten said it many years ago, “But I _do_ have knowledge of the body’s chakras. Wanna see?”

Harry blinked.

“ _Chakras_?” He echoed.

Azula rolled her eyes. For the savior of the wizarding world, Harry was pretty unknowledgeable.

“Think of pressure points.” Azula clarified, “She knows how to damage your… _magic_ via pressure points. Makes sense?”

Harry still appeared confused, but rather than voicing his remaining uncertainties, he nodded.

“Good.” Ty Lee clapped her hands before turning to Azula, “I like your boyfriend, Zula. He makes me feel smart.”

Azula’s nose scrunched up in disgust. She would _never_ date Harry, and the reasons were practically endless:

  1. She had morals.
  2. She had _way_ more ambition than him.
  3. He would stick out like a sore thumb in the Fire Nation.
  4. She was almost _twelve_ , and cared not for romantic relationships at this point in her life.
  5. He could never keep up with her.
  6. She was a lot smarter than him.
  7. He kept terrible company.
  8. He was weaker than her.



“She’s _not_ my girlfriend!” Harry’s stunned exclamation brought Azula out of her mental list of reasons why she’d never date him, “That’s repulsive.”

Despite not wanting anything past a platonic relationship with the Gryffindor, Azula was still offended. She was many things, but _repulsive_ was far from one of them.

“How _dare_ you.” Azula hissed, producing a flame in her left hand as she grabbed the naïve boy by collar of his temporary Firinian robes, “Why don’t I show you how repulsive –”

“Zula, _no_!” Ty Lee squeaked, and before Azula knew it, her friend’s thumb was jabbing into the skin just below the bend of her elbow. Almost immediately, the area went limp, a vague tingling sensation preceding pure numbness. Betrayed, Azula turned her golden eyes towards the culprit.

“You betrayed me.” Azula’s tone was accusatory, emphasized by her narrowed eyes.

In the background, Harry was watching the interaction between the Firinian girls with barely concealed shock. It was more likely than not that he had never seen anyone disarmed as quickly as Azula was disarmed by Ty Lee.

Ty Lee’s hands shook frantically as they rested on Azula’s shoulders.

“Please don’t be mad, Zula.” Again with the nickname, “I just didn’t want you to hurt him, is all. Didn’t you say that your father –”

Anger momentarily forgotten, Azula unceremoniously covered Ty Lee’s mouth with her non-paralyzed hand. She couldn’t have her (at times) ditzy friend relay everything she had been told about the Fire Lord’s intentions with Harry. Harry was known among their graduating class for having absolutely no filter, and if her father found out that Harry knew of his plans, well, Azula’s prospects wouldn’t look good.

Ty Lee, having gotten Azula’s hint, stopped talking, but Azula should’ve known better than to think Harry would drop the matter entirely.

“What does your father want with me?” Harry crossed his hands over his chest, indignance radiating off him in waves at the thought of being led into a trap.

Azula made her features impassive and shrugged, removing her hand from Ty Lee’s mouth.

“He wants to have dinner with you alone in a few days.” Azula said casually, betraying no emotion other than total indifference, “Three days before the termination of your visit, if my memory serves me.”

Harry didn’t look like he believed her, and opened his mouth, – most likely to refute Azula’s claim – but Ty Lee beat him to it.

“I suppose the two of you _wouldn’t_ work out after all.” Ty Lee mused, her tone uncharacteristically reflective, “Harry’s aura is too orange, while yours is more of a red mixed with gray, Zula.”

Azula rolled her eyes. Leave it to her friend to bring up auras. The girl was entirely too focused on nonsensical things most of the time, but she was internally grateful for the subject change.

“And besides,” Ty Lee continued, “you’d be better suited with a person whose aura is the inverse of yours. Less red and more grays.”

Azula didn’t bother trying to understand what her friend was saying, – she was too used to her rants about character traits – but Harry seemed as if he were genuinely trying to understand her. She shook her head, a wry smile on her face. Typical Gryffindor, always had to get to the bottom of everything.

“Leave her be.” Azula advised him, “You’re not going to get it. Anyways, how about we play a game?”

Though her tone was sweet, Harry’s eyes narrowed. He appeared not to trust her judgment in games, but Ty Lee was on her side.

“Zula makes up the best games.” Ty Lee insisted, “One time, when Zuko was still here, she put an apple on Mai’s head and set the stem on fire. She has amazing aim.” Ty Lee frowned for a moment before her cheery demeanor returned, “Why don’t _you_ hold the apple this time, Harry?”

“Absolutely not.” Harry’s answer was immediate, and Azula wasn’t really surprised. Still, she wasn’t going to miss an opportunity to make him quake in his shoes.

“I agree, Ty.” Azula smiled, clasping her hands in front of her in a mock display of innocence, “You’re my guest. You just have to trust my aim.”

* * *

“You attend school with my daughter.” Fire Lord Ozai murmured quietly to Harry over a private dinner. The two were alone in the palatial dining room, no guards, servants, or Azula to disturb them, and Harry immediately disdained the awkward air between them.

Harry carefully swallowed a piece of his mongoose-lion meat, observing that it tasted suspiciously like chicken. He still didn’t know what a mongoose-lion was, and made a mental note to ask Azula what it was the next time he saw her.

“Yes, sir.” When addressing Professor Snape as sir, Harry couldn’t help but use an underlying note of sarcasm, but he got the feeling that addressing Ozai in such a manner would end very, _very_ badly for him, “I got sorted into Gryffindor house.”

At the mention of the house of the brave, Ozai’s lips turned downwards, his expression sour. He went from complete neutrality to looking as if there was nothing more he wanted to do than strike Harry down from where he was sitting. Still, Ozai continued eating, pausing briefly to take a sip of what seemed to be red wine, though considering the fact that _mongoose-lion_ meat was an actual thing, his beverage could’ve had some other strange name.

“I see.” Ozai pursed his lips, “And Azula has told me that you’ve both had your first set of exams. How did you fare?”

Ozai’s line of questioning could almost be considered paternal, but there was something menacing about how he was speaking. He recalled Ty Lee’s slip up from a few days, and while the pink-clad girl was an oddity herself, he was convinced that the Fire Lord had some sinister motivation for wanting to meet with him.

“I did alright, sir.” Harry answered, careful to keep strong eye-contact with the Firinian leader, “I’m sure Azula did better, but I did well enough to advance to second year.”

Truth be told, he didn’t remember much about the grades he received – he was too busy trying to fend off Lord Voldemort for the whole year. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to mention Azula’s academic performance, but it probably had something to do with the hand-shaped imprint on her face the first day he saw her that summer.

“I am aware of my daughter’s proficiency.” Ozai said coldly, standing up from the table, Harry quickly following suit, “You will demonstrate your magical ability to me, and I will critique it.”

“With all due respect sir, _why_?” Harry asked, “We’re not allowed to use magic outside of Hogwarts. The Ministry will get involved and…”

Harry let himself trail off at the stern glance Ozai was giving him. He got the feeling that he wouldn’t like whatever consequence would befall him if he continued to speak.

“When I give an order, you are to carry it out with no questions asked.” Ozai stepped around the table and walked over to where Harry was standing. The green-eyed boy felt his heart race in anticipation, and though he longed to say something in return, the rational side of him kept him quiet. _Hermione would be proud_ , “I once told my disappointment of a son that he would learn respect, and suffering would be his teacher. If you don’t want to learn the same lesson, I suggest you learn fast.”

A mental image of Zuko’s scar raced across Harry’s mind and he shuddered. He didn’t doubt that Ozai would hit him if he deemed him out of line. If he could banish a son and strike a daughter, what would stop him from harming someone he wasn’t even related to? The only people who could possibly help him out of his predicament were in Britain, and he had no way of contacting any of them for the next few days. Maybe the usage of underage magic would alert the Ministry?

“Oh, and the Ministry has no power here.” Ozai’s words dashed all of Harry’s remaining hope, “The Fire Nation, as a country with its own form of magic, has a different set of rules that have been in place since my grandfather, Fire Lord Sozin, ruled.”

With a sigh, Harry looked up at the Fire Lord, shifting his gaze between the tyrannical man and the nearest exist. He calculated how long it would take him to run to the doors and leave the room, but realized several flaws with his semi-plan:

  1. The Fire Lord was a grown man, and most definitely faster than Harry. He would be flayed before he even properly left the table.
  2. There were guards stationed outside of the dining room. If the Fire Lord didn’t get to him, they certainly would.
  3. If he managed to evade both the guards and the Fire Lord, he’d probably run into Azula knowing his luck, and she’d drag him back to her father.
  4. If by some miracle, he escaped the Firinian palace, _where would he go_?



“I feel it appropriate to warn you, sir.” Harry cautiously pointed his wand at Ozai, “I don’t know that many spells.”

At Ozai’s menacing grin, Harry got the sinking feeling that he shouldn’t have divulged that bit of information.

* * *

Hours later, a severely bruised Harry Potter sat on a bed in the medical wing of the Firinian palace. He didn’t know when he’d been knocked out, but felt as if he had been run over by an 18-wheeler…and then abandoned on a burning stove. He was almost certain that a few of his ribs were broken too.

As he thought of the events of the past few hours, he vaguely recalled a blurry image of the Fire Lord standing over him, a blazing fire in his hands, reflected in his hateful golden eyes.

“I see you’re awake.” Harry knew that voice anywhere.

Azula had decided to grace him with her presence, perched carefully on the edge of the bed.

“You don’t look that bad, considering.” Azula mused, handing a pocket-sized mirror to Harry.

Once Harry looked at his reflection, he gasped, utterly appalled. His face was swollen, left eye black. There were various cuts and bruises on his face, and if it wasn’t for his signature lightning-bolt scar, he wouldn’t have recognized himself. He looked back up at Azula, who was staring at him expectantly.

“I don’t look that bad?” He asked her incredulously. _Had she even taken a proper look at his face_?

Azula snorted, and Harry couldn’t understand what she found so funny. She got up and approached him, lifting his chin with a single finger. She observed him silently, nodding to herself.

“Not bad at all.” Azula murmured, though she seemed to be speaking to herself, “He asked me to heal you. Only magic would heal these kinds of injuries in time for school. You’re lucky he’s letting you heal properly. It could’ve been a lot worse.”

Azula dropped his face suddenly and moved towards the door of the room, not looking back at him once. A sudden thought dawned on Harry, and he found himself asking her a question before he could fully think it through.

“Has he done worse than this… _to you_?”

Harry didn’t miss how Azula’s whole body stiffened as she stopped walking. She whirled around to face him, and a torrent of emotions was swirling in her eyes. He couldn’t read the expression on her face, but knew without her saying a word that he wasn’t going to get an answer to his question.

“I’m going to get some paste to put on your burns.” Azula said acidly, and any trace of niceness that had been in her eyes the whole summer was gone, replaced with the Azula he first met, “We’re going school shopping tomorrow, and you need to look your best.”

With that, Azula spun on her heel and walked out of the room, letting the door slam behind her. A profound sense of sadness welled up within Harry, and he, once again, was left with more questions than answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will be updated before noon EST on Tuesday.


	15. Senseless Squabbles and A Little Black Book

The prospect of returning to Hogwarts appealed more and more to Draco the longer he spent at Malfoy Manor. Despite his mother’s best efforts, the summer was made miserable by his father’s constant complaining. In his eyes, Draco could do nothing right, and after a whole summer of enduring his father’s verbal abuse, another year at Hogwarts – despite the abysmal people there – sounded enchanting.

He had been hoping to go school shopping with his mother alone this year. At least _she_ would be supportive of any decision he made. She was less likely to vehemently oppose everything he wanted in Diagon Alley, so to Draco, she was the ideal person to go shopping with.

Of course, he couldn’t have nice things, which is how he found himself with his father in the middle of Flourish and Blotts.

“Find your schoolbooks, and _only_ your schoolbooks.” Lucius drawled, pushing his son in front of him, “Unlike your mother, I won’t tolerate extra purchases.”

Draco bit back a retort and merely sighed inaudibly. If he could get through the rest of the summer without incident, he would consider it a miracle, especially when taking into account his father’s short temper.

“Yes, Father.” With that, Draco set off to find his required readings for his second year.

Not long after he left his father, he spotted none other than Harry Potter in the very front of the store, posing for a picture next to a man with the nametag _Gilderoy Lockheart_ on the left breast pocket of his robes. Sauntering over, Draco resolved to ruin Potter’s day.

“Can’t miss an opportunity to pose for the cameras, eh Potter?” Draco sneered.

Potter opened his mouth to respond, but a familiar voice cut him off.

“Can’t you see he has no good taste?” Azula Ryland’s voice entered the mix, and before Draco knew it, the Slytherin royal was standing next to him, wearing a look of disdain on her face, “First, he has the _audacity_ to call _me_ repulsive, as if I would ever consider dating him, and now he thinks he’s some kind of celebrity.”

There was a betrayed look on Potter’s face as he stared at Azula in disbelief, lips pursed in a thin line. He looked to be struggling with what he wanted to say, and instead huffed in frustration.

“I should’ve known you weren’t any better than him.” Potter spat, shoving past Draco and Azula and disappearing into the crowd.

Draco turned to Azula.

“What was that about?”

Azula rolled her eyes, shrugging casually.

“It’s a long story.” She proclaimed, her tone dramatic as she rested her hand on her forehead, palm facing upward, “My father made me spend practically the whole summer with him, and somewhere along the line, he began to believe that he and I were friends.”

Draco snorted. Potter and Azula, _friends_? It was likelier that the Dark Lord would return from the dead.

“How naive of him.” Draco grinned, wrapping an arm around Azula’s shoulders, unsurprised when she flinched at the sudden contact, “Doesn’t he know that Slytherins only care about their own?”

Azula removed herself from Draco’s pseudo embrace, but a grin was on her face nonetheless.

“I suppose you’re not as bad as I initially thought, Draco.” Azula mused, her haughty tone betrayed by the semi-playful glint in her eyes.

Draco scoffed.

“ _Please_.” Draco shook his head in mock indignance, “I’m the most competent friend you have.”

“I can think of at least three who are more competent than you.” Azula countered, “And that’s saying something, considering the fact that _Ty Lee_ is included in that, and Ty Lee has her…moments.”

“Well –” Draco wanted to get another witty retort in, but a loud crash tore his attention from his Firinian companion.

Both of their eyes were drawn to the center of the bookshop, where a small crowd arranged in a circle had formed. As the two of them got closer to the crowd, Draco understood what the fuss was about.

His father and Arthur Weasley were engaged in a fistfight.

* * *

Savages. Absolute savages. Those were the only words Azula could think of to describe the uncouth physical altercation between Lucius Malfoy and Arthur Weasley. One minute, she was going school shopping with her father and Harry, and the next minute, the Malfoy and Weasley patriarchs were _literally_ at each other’s throats. Harry, always having to play hero, tried to pull Arthur Weasley off of Lucius, but it was only at Molly Weasley’s insistence that Arthur relented his attacks.

With a burst lip, one would think that Arthur had truly suffered during the incident, but one would only have to take a brief glance at Lucius to see that Arthur had been the victor. Azula had quickly gotten bored with the fight, choosing instead to skim through the pages of one of her school books, though she didn’t pay attention to the name. The majority of the assigned readings were by some man named _Gilderoy Lockheart_ , and anyone with such a false-sounding name had immediately lost Azula’s respect.

“Mr. Potter, we will be leaving now.” Her father’s soft, yet commanding voice ordered, gesturing to Harry to cease his comforting of Arthur, “We have better places to be than consorting with people who act no better than common filth.”

Internally, Azula laughed, but her exterior reflected nothing other than a satisfied smirk. Though her father probably agreed that his own words were funny, he most definitely wouldn’t appreciate her laughing giddily in public like an infant. However, she did feel slightly bad for Draco. He wasn’t _that_ bad of a person, and Azula reasoned to herself that he didn’t deserve to have his father both verbally and physically disparaged in front of him.

To her surprise, Draco looked as if he were holding back his own laughter. Perhaps, even _he_ didn’t respect his own father? Azula would be sure to ask him the next time she saw him. Harry, in the meanwhile, as he had many times that summer, looked torn. He desperately wanted to return to the Weasley abode, but knew that he couldn’t go back on the promise he made to Azula. That didn’t stop him from trying, though.

“But sir –” Harry tried, but her father didn’t let him get any other words out.

“Would you like to be taught another lesson in obedience?” Her father smirked cruelly, to which Harry shuddered. Azula briefly wondered just how extreme the extent of his “training” sessions with her father were, as she had only seen him harmed the one time, but decided that she wouldn’t be bothered with knowing, “I’m sure that Azula can testify that my lessons are nowhere near as pleasurable as the ones you receive at Hogwarts.”

This time, Azula was the one to wince. She remembered not only the slap he had dealt her all those weeks ago, but also the decidedly many times he had to _discipline_ her in the past. In comparison to Zuko, she supposed that her punishments were less severe – she wasn’t the one with a _scar_ , after all.

She refused to acknowledge his punishments as anything other than discipline.

Both Arthur and his wife appeared appalled at what her father was insinuating, but said nothing. Lucius, as usual seemed indignant, nose in the air as he roughly grabbed Draco by the shoulders.

“Let us leave, Draco.” Lucius sniffed with the remnants of his dignity as he navigated his son through the bustling bookshop, “We have better places to be.”

Whether accidentally or intentionally, Azula didn’t know, but as he tried to exit the shop, Lucius bumped straight into her, causing all of her newly purchased schoolbooks to fall out of her hands. Azula scowled, opening her mouth to say something, – _anything_ – but it was her father who spoke up in her defense.

“Pick them up, Malfoy.” Ozai demanded, an irritated sneer decorating his features, “I’m not above teaching lessons to adults too.”

Though Lucius’ ears turned pink with his fury, he pursed his lips in what came out as more of a grimace than a smile.

“My _pleasure_.” Lucius muttered through gritted teeth, bending low to pick up the fallen books before rising once more, all but shoving them into Azula’s hands, “Draco, we’re leaving now.”

Azula noted the way Draco’s eyes trailed down to the books now returned to her hands. His brows furrowed in confusion, and Azula raised a questioning brow. She didn’t understand why he was so fascinated with her books. After all, they were in the same year, and therefore had the same required readings.

Before Azula could properly call Draco out on his staring, the now familiar tug in her navel told her that her father had grown weary of waiting, using a portkey to transport her, Harry, and himself back to the Fire Nation.

* * *

By the time Draco was situated in Malfoy Manor once again, watching his mother dress his father’s wounds, he’d been given a lot of time to think. In the bookshop, his father had bumped into Azula, knocking her books to the ground. After being reprimanded by Azula’s father, Lucius – albeit reluctantly – returned Azula’s books to her. His father’s niceties weren’t what shocked him; his father had always told him that there was a time and a place for everything. Or maybe that had been his mother. It certainly seemed like the kind of wisdom she would impart, but that wasn’t the point. What mattered was the fact that during the confusion, his father’s black book had gotten mixed up with Azula’s schoolbooks.

“You shouldn’t provoke people like him.” Narcissa was saying as she pressed a cotton swab full of antiseptic to one of Lucius’ swollen cheeks, causing his father to hiss, “This outcome is always inevitable.”

“I didn’t know I had married a muggle-sympathizer.” Lucius spat out, hissing again as Narcissa seemingly applied too much pressure to one of his bruises, “Why does it matter to you who I provoke?”

Draco had never heard his father utter a negative thing about his mother. From his vantage point, though his father was often cold, the one person in the world who Draco was sure Lucius loved was Narcissa. Hence, when Draco heard how quick his father was to lash out at her, saying that it took him by surprise would be a complete understatement. He kept silent from his position a few feet away from them, wanting simultaneously to blend into the wall and to keep listening.

“I’m going to ignore that.” The icy quality of Narcissa’s voice gave Draco chills, and he was suddenly glad that his mother was never more than a little upset with _him_ , “Don’t take my leniency for weakness, Lucius. You remember what happened the last time you tried.”

Draco didn’t want to imagine what happened the last time, but it looked like his father remembered exactly what had transpired, if the scowl he gave her was any indication.

“And why do you deem it necessary to use muggle means to heal me?” Lucius continued, as if Narcissa had never spoken, “Are you really that incompetent in magic, woman?”

Draco expected his mother to strike back with a heated verbal assault, her words sharp as they left her mouth. Instead, she shook her head, amusement coloring her features. It was a wonder that she wasn’t laughing with how amused she seemed.

“What’s so funny?” Lucius’ words were low, perhaps an attempt to intimidate Narcissa with his dark tone.

Narcissa’s eye glimmered with mirth as she answered Lucius’ question.

“Nothing, my dear.” Narcissa murmured, gathering more antiseptic onto the cotton swab. Her movements were deliberate as she continued pressing the swab onto her husband’s face, “I just find it interesting that a man who nearly failed his charms classes throughout all his years at Hogwarts has the gall to insult my expertise.”

Narcissa paused, and Draco couldn’t help the snickers that left his own mouth. His father leveled him a pointed glance, but Draco couldn’t find it in himself to really care. As cruel as his father could be, as long as he was in his mother’s presence, no harm – verbal or physical – would come to Draco.

“Besides.” Narcissa smirked, “Why would I waste my magic on a man who would rather resort to _muggle_ means of fighting instead of using the gifts he was born with?”

If the rapid reddening of Lucius’ cheeks was anything to go by, he was livid. Draco bit his lip to keep more laughs from escaping his lips. He knew that his father would find a way to get him back later for laughing at him, so he’d rather not give him more to be upset about.

In the midst of his father’s argument with his mother, a sudden thought returned to the forefront of his subconsciousness.

 _That little black book_.

While at the bookshop, Draco was certain that his father’s black book had gotten mixed up with Azula’s own books. He couldn’t believe that something like that had slipped his mind, but in hindsight, watching his parents argue with one another proved fairly distracting.

“Father.” Draco interrupted the argument that had still been going on while he was lost in his thoughts, “You dropped your book at the store.”

Narcissa ceased speaking immediately, frowning. Lucius only stared at him coldly, and Draco knew without him speaking that he was going to deny everything.

“What book are you talking about Draco?” Lucius’s voice was daring him to answer, taunting him, but Draco wasn’t about to be intimidated.

“Your _black_ book.” Draco said firmly, making sure his body posture was rigid with confidence. He wasn’t going to let his father make him look ridiculous, “You had it on the desk in the study, and then it got mixed up with Azula’s –”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Lucius narrowed his eyes, but somehow, his attempt to appear cold and callous was thwarted by his swollen facial features, “I suggest you stop talking now.”

His mother in the meanwhile had said nothing, choosing to scrutinize both him and his father in utter silence. The look on her face was unreadable, and Draco wished he was as proficient at reading faces as she was. Finally, she sighed.

“Draco, go to your room.” Narcissa said finally, turning to his father with a frown on her face, “I need to have a word with your father.”

Draco opened his mouth to protest, – he wanted to see his father put more into his place – but the challenging look his mother gave him shut him right up. With a huff of irritation, Draco, albeit slowly, made his way to his room, but not before he heard the beginning of his parents’ conversation.

“What did you do _this_ time, Lucius?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I _know_ the book he’s talking about, Lucius. I don’t know how you managed to get it from Bellatrix’s possession –”

“ _Leave it alone, Narcissa_.”

“Just like you asked me to _leave it alone_ during the first war when you wanted to play –”

A soft pop startled Draco out of his eavesdropping. Standing next to him was Dobby, and Draco motioned for the house-elf to follow him quietly to his room. Once the door was closed properly, Dobby began speaking.

“Dobby heard loud arguing and was concerned for Master Draco.” Dobby insisted, hands moving about rapidly in the air. Draco wanted to silence the house-elf, but the next few words out of his mouth stopped him, “Dobby knows of the book Mistress Narcissa was talking about. It is one Mistress Bellatrix had before she went to Azkaban and Dobby knows it is dangerous.”

“It’s in Azula’s possession now.” Draco mused aloud, “But she’s staying with Potter…”

He let his words trail off, unsure of what to say, but Dobby filled in the silence with a loud gasp.

“Then Harry Potter is in danger.” Dobby cried frantically, beginning to pace wildly around the room, “Dobby must help Harry Potter.”

Draco didn’t miss how Dobby conveniently left Azula out of his rant. Once again, Saint Potter was the only one people – and in this case, house-elves – cared about. Before Draco could properly demand to know what Dobby meant by _helping Potter_ , the house-elf disappeared, and Draco didn’t have the desire to call him back for another round of hysterics.

* * *

“Make sure Harry has all of his schoolbooks, Azula.” Azula grumbled to herself as she paced in her room, “Pack them all for him, Azula. _Obey_ me, Azula.”

Azula couldn’t for the life of her understand why her father was so concerned with Harry’s level of comfort. He had taken to training Harry in the art of magic, – something he’d never bothered to train _her_ in – and now she had to make sure the Gryffindor was aptly prepared for school. Still, Azula didn’t question her father. There was always a reason for everything he did.

This didn’t mean, however, that she couldn’t perform small acts of rebellion. What her father didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Harry would have to pack his own schoolbooks, and if she had her way, her father would be none the wiser.

Satisfied with her line of thinking, Azula settled down on her own bed. Her father was off training _again_ with Harry, so she was going to make use of the few minutes of luxury this afforded her, and take the opportunity to look through her own books. She still couldn’t believe how many books by this _Lockheart_ person she was required to read for the year. From her brief skimming of the books, they could hardly be considered actual academic books; they were more so autobiographies painting the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher in a favorable light.

Just as she was going to give up reading in favor of more interesting pursuits, a small, wrinkled black diary-looking object caught her attention. Azula herself had never owned a diary, but she knew that Mai did. It looked similar to the one Mai had, – black and unappealingly dull – but Azula highly doubted that her prudish friend would ever leave her diary at the Firinian palace in Azula’s possession.

Nothing was written in the diary, and Azula didn’t like the weathered appearance of the pale pages. When she initially opened the diary, she had been hoping that there would be secrets embedded within it. She didn’t care _whose_ secrets, but she wanted to at least have something interesting to read.

Sorely disappointed, Azula moved to close the diary before catching a hurried scrawl at the top of the page. Leaning closer to the diary, Azula made out the writing.

_Wait, don’t close this diary!_

Azula waited patiently, but sensing that she wasn’t about to get another response, she picked up a nearby quill and wrote something in return.

_I presume this is a magic diary of some sort._

Once again, Azula waited, and as she watched the words being written on the page, she could hardly believe what was happening.

_You are correct. Why don’t we introduce ourselves?_

_You first._

_This is my diary. You wouldn’t want to be rude, would you?_

The diary’s presumption that she was rude annoyed her, but if for no one’s interest but her own, she relented.

_I am Azula Ryland, Crown Princess of the Fire Nation and heir to the Firinian throne._

_Ah, one of Sozin’s relatives, I see. How refreshing._

_And your name?_

This time, the diary took a while to respond, and just before Azula was going to close it in sheer impatience, it answered her.

_I am Tom Marvolo Riddle._


	16. Meddling House-Elves

_My birthday was yesterday, and no one cared_.

Azula had taken to writing to the mystery person behind the journal she had received the day she went school shopping. Not that she would admit it to anyone other than herself, but writing in the journal was proving therapeutic for her. She still didn’t know if the individual who was on the other side of the journal was real, or a figment of magic’s creation, but she couldn’t care less. As long as she had someone to vent to, she would be fine.

Not even _Draco_ had sent a letter to her, but the more rational side of Azula reminded her that she had never disclosed her birthday to him.

_I grew up in an orphanage. No one cared whether I lived or died._

Her mystery companion had finally responded to her, and picking up her quill, she crafted something to say in return.

_Don’t you think that’s a bit dramatic?_

_And yet, you’re the one crying over the fact that the people close to you forgot your birthday._

Azula scowled. How dare her writing companion judge her for being upset. She was a _princess_ , and therefore, didn’t have to take disrespect, especially from someone she didn’t even know.

 _Whatever. I’m going to Hogwarts in a few hours, so you can stay trapped in here while_ **_I_ ** _get back to my life._

There! That would show the journal boy (Azula assumed by the often dry and sarcastic tone of the person that they were male. Not many females she knew in the Fire Nation were more than their husband’s puppets, their only ambition being to marry a man of status).

Flipping the journal closed, she looked at the clock next to her bed.

 _3am_.

If she went back to sleep now, she’d only be cranky when she had to officially wake up for the day at 8am. She had to be at Hogwarts by 11am, and with Harry still around, she knew that he’d pose some sort of distraction for her.

 _He always did_.

Shuffling out of bed, Azula yawned, raising a hand to gingerly cover her mouth. Truth be told, she didn’t even know why she was awake at this time. Her firebending practice was always at 4am, but for some reason, her body decided that 3am was the _perfect_ time for her to wake up.

Deciding that it wouldn’t make sense to go back to sleep, Azula – after finding more suitable footwear than her soft, red slippers – made her way to the palace courtyard, completely disregarding the fact that she was still in her nightwear otherwise. She passed by the guards who were stationed outside her room, and rolled her eyes as she noticed that they were asleep, slouching lazily against the wall. She didn’t bother to wake them. The less people in her way at this hour, the better.

She passed by her father’s personal wing of the palace, determined to sneak past it as quietly as she could, but stopped when she heard frustrated grunts. Moving closer, she opened the door slightly, peering into the room as stealthily as possible without getting caught.

Her father was situated on his bed, clutching what seemed to be a wand in his hand. He had it pointed at a vase on the opposite side of the room. Luckily for Azula, his back was facing her, and she was praying to Agni that he wouldn’t pick up on her presence.

“Wingardium Leviosa.” Her father murmured, aiming straight for the vase.

His posture was correct, his incantation flawless, and his wand motions were perfect. Yet, the vase didn’t move an inch, and at noticing that, her father let out a stream of curses. Azula didn’t understand why the wand wasn’t working for him. For a man as powerful as her father, a spell as simple as _Wingardium Leviosa_ ought to be effortless, and still, there was her father… _failing_ for the first time that Azula could recall.

Perhaps, her father wasn’t as strong as she had thought?

Shaking the preposterous thought out of her head, Azula closed the door, making sure that it didn’t make a _click_ as she continued on her way to the courtyard. Surely, there _had_ to be a better explanation for her father’s failure. She remembered the first time she held a wand in her hand – it had taken her several wands to find the perfect one, so perhaps, her father’s wand had simply timed out. Obviously, the problem didn’t lie with her _father_. The problem was the wand itself.

At least, this is what Azula had to think to keep herself sane.

* * *

Firebending is simple. Lightning bending, while a bit more challenging, is not much of a challenge for Azula. After hours of strenuous firebending training in the courtyard, lightning bending at a furious pace that was sure to have woken the whole palace, Azula was ready to start her second year at Hogwarts. Nothing would get in her way of having a successful year…

 _Except Harry Potter himself_. Leave it to the Gryffindor to get her involved in his mess.

It all started when Azula returned to her room from her training session to find Harry waiting for her, perched on her bed nonchalantly with his arms crossed. Relenting a sigh, Azula closed her room door behind her, resting her top knot on the vanity nearest to her. If she was going to have to deal with Harry this early in the morning, she may as well get comfortable.

Running a hand through her now loosened hair, Azula raised an eyebrow, belying none of her confusion in her facial expression.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of you in my room before breakfast?” Azula queried, resting her hands on her hips in a manner that never failed to cause Zuko to sweat, “Isn’t it a bit too early for us to argue?”

Harry blinked at her.

“You removed your top knot.” He said dumbly, and Azula had to remind herself that teenaged boys tended to lack sense in the presence of pretty girls such as herself.

“Yes,” Azula raised a lock of her own hair, “and this is my hair. Would you like to state the obvious some more, or can we get straight to the point of why you’re invading my privacy?”

Harry shook his head, probably to rid himself of whatever asinine thought he was thinking of before. He gestured between the two of them and began to speak.

“I was hoping you and I could be _cordial_ this year.” The tone of Harry’s voice told Azula that it took him a lot of effort to utter the words, “I’m not saying we have to be friends, because let’s be honest. That’s probably never going to happen, but can’t we at least go back to the relationship we had at the beginning of the summer? Remember when you set Dudley’s computer on fire and he cried like a baby? And the time I threatened to use magic on Aunt Petunia if she wasn’t nicer to me?”

Azula took a moment to recall the instances that Harry had brought up. It _had_ been fun teaming up with him to cause mischief in the Dursley household. She had to admit that Harry had some sort of wit to him, if the ingenious pranks he played on the Dursleys were any indication.

“Like I said, we don’t have to be friends.” Harry continued, resting his hands – palms facing upward – in front of him in a show of comradery, “But at the very least, we don’t have to hate each other.”

Azula could reason to herself that Harry’s request was acceptable. It’s not like the Gryffindor boy was weak like _Zuko_ – she only truly loathed the weak, and while Harry got on her nerves a majority of the time, she could respect his quiet strength. She still understood, to an extent, why Draco disliked him, but then again, Draco was an idiot. An idiot who was her _friend_ , but an idiot nonetheless.

A sudden, tiny popping sound startled Azula, effectively cutting off whatever answer she was going to give Harry. There, in the middle of her bedroom, was a small, shriveled creature.

‘ _A house-elf_.’ Azula mentally corrected herself. It wasn’t like she had never seen a house-elf before – she remembered the Christmas she had spent with Astoria Greengrass during her first year at Hogwarts – but she hadn’t been expecting one to appear in her room, all the way in the Fire Nation.

“Harry Potter must not return to Hogwarts.” The house-elf squeaked, walking over to Harry and shaking him by the shoulders, “Dobby knows that only danger awaits Harry Potter at Hogwarts.”

Azula rolled her eyes. She didn’t know why this house-elf – Dobby – felt the need to state the obvious. Danger and stupidity followed Harry everywhere he went. It didn’t take a genius to comprehend that, so she said so.

Dobby turned to her, his wide, glassy eyes focused on the journal she had retrieved from her vanity. Harry had yet to say a word.

“That – that _book_.” Dobby whispered, his fingers trembling as he pointed at it, “That book is _evil_.”

“This _book_ ,” Azula taunted, “is just that – _a book_. What does it have to do with anything?”

Dobby shook his head fervently.

“Dobby needs you to give Dobby the book.” Dobby’s attempt as sounding firm fell apart due to the ever-present tremors in his voice, “Master Draco said that it was in the possession of Azula Ryland, and Dobby remembers the bad things his masters said about it.”

Azula held the journal protectively against her chest. There was no way she was going to let some deranged house-elf try and take it away from her, not when she had finally found something to help her express her daily frustrations. She never thought she’d be the type to have a journal of sorts, but _technically_ , someone was on the other end of those pages. Hence, she wasn’t the average Firinian girl who only sought journals in order to write about their frivolous crushes.

“You can’t just come into someone else’s room – in their home country, might I add – and demand that they hand over a journal to you because you’re under the impression that it has some kind of dark magic. You have no proof.” Harry spoke up in Azula’s defense before turning to her, “I didn’t know you kept a journal.”

“That’s not the point.” Azula snapped, calming herself down enough so that her cheeks wouldn’t redden in slight embarrassment. There was no reason for her to feel ashamed at writing her thoughts and feelings down on paper. With that resolve, she focused once more on Dobby, “And _you_. Get out of my room!”

Dobby looked like he wanted to say something more, but Azula held up a warning flame in her hand, a deep scowl on her face. She was done entertaining this house-elf. The house-elf in question sighed, rubbing his forehead roughly with his hand.

“Very well.” Dobby sighed, a look of determination on his wrinkled face that Azula instantly didn’t like, “Dobby must take matters into his own hands.”

Just as abruptly as Dobby appeared in her room, he disappeared, with no more than a quiet _pop_ to signal his departure.

Azula blinked at the randomness of her morning thus far. First, her father had difficulty performing a simple charm. Then, Harry decided to disrupt her morning peace and invade her room, and what appeared to be one of Draco’s house-elves had deemed it necessary to try and take her new journal from her, claiming that it was evil incarnate.

“That was strange.” Harry mused, rubbing his chin in thought. A questioning look was in his eyes as he returned his gaze to Azula, curious emerald meeting impatient gold, “What do you suppose we do about that? Do you think he was right?”

Ignoring Harry’s last question, Azula answered him.

“ _We_ will do nothing.” Azula pulled Harry off of her bed, shoving him towards her room door, “But _you_ will get out of my room and leave me to get ready. I intend on having a productive year, and you’re not going to ruin this for me.”

Without giving Harry the chance to respond, Azula slammed the door in his face, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves. Staring intensely at the journal in her hand, she took a seat on her bed, flipping it open to her most recent conversation. Lifting up the quill she had been using as a bookmark, she began to write.

_A house-elf just barged into my room and tried to convince me that you are dangerous. How much merit does he have with that assumption?_

Azula waited for the person on the other side of the journal to answer her, tapping her nails against the journal’s pages. She didn’t expect the person to give her a full answer, and if she were being honest, it was kind of a ridiculous question to ask someone. Asking a person if they were dangerous was unlikely to prompt a truthful response. The brief tremble that the journal gave in her hands told her that the person had written her back.

_The elf is right. I am dangerous, I won’t lie about that. I know far more advanced magic than you can even dream of._

_Can you teach me some of it?_

The journal took a while to answer Azula’s latest question, and she registered the sound of footsteps from near her room door. Before she could hide the journal, the door burst open, revealing her father.

“I trust that you have already started getting ready for –” Her father cut himself off, eyes narrowed as he stared at the journal, which had deemed that the most opportune time to vibrate, “What is _that_?”

Azula forced herself not to stiffen and met her father’s gaze, face as blank as she could muster as she prepared to do the one thing she had never done with regards to her father.

“It’s a book for school.” Azula lied easily, lifting the journal to briefly display it for her father before returning it to her lap, “You once told me that it’s best to be prepared for every situation, and I thought it appropriate to start my revisions for the year as soon as possible.”

For a moment, her father was silent, and Azula was afraid that he had seen right through her lie. His lips pursed and he nodded, apparently placated with whatever he found in her eyes as he stared into them.

“Do not allow this,” Her father pointed to the journal, “to make you tardy. I do not tolerate tardiness.”

Saying nothing more, her father left her room, and Azula released the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She scowled at the journal that had almost gotten her in trouble and opened it, pleasantly surprised by the promise the person on the other side of the journal had left her with.

 _You return to Hogwarts today. Allow me to show you there_.

Satisfied, a confident grin made its way onto Azula’s face. Despite the strangeness of her morning, she was eager to return to Hogwarts. With a promise of learning more magic to make her stronger, Azula wouldn’t let anything or anyone – especially not that house-elf – stop her from getting to school.

* * *

Azula couldn’t believe that Dobby had found a way to prevent her from returning to school. By this time, she had arrived at the area between Platforms 9 and 10 with Harry – her father having left early – when she realized that she was unable to access Platform 9 ¾. Ron Weasley, whose family had already left him behind, was in the same predicament.

“What do you mean we can’t get through?” Harry whisper-shouted to Azula as she relentlessly banged her luggage into the wall, earning her a few glares from passersby, “And would you stop doing that? You’re drawing too much attention to us.”

“I couldn’t care less!” Azula hissed, momentarily stopping her efforts to whirl around and point a finger at Harry, “We wouldn’t be in this mess if that _stupid_ elf didn’t think your life was in danger.”

“You can’t seriously be blaming _me_ for this.” Harry replied hotly, and Azula was certain that the look on her own face told him otherwise, “I don’t ask for trouble to follow me. It just _does_.”

Azula opened her mouth to say something vitriolic, but Weasley beat her to it.

“Look, we can stand here and argue,” Weasley frowned, “or we can find another way to get to Hogwarts.”

Azula stood with her hand on her hips, turning her attention to the red-haired boy. She would never admit that he was right, so she settled for the next best thing.

“And what do _you_ suggest?” Azula asked mockingly, “ _Oh_ , I know. How about we take that metal deathtrap your brother drove in the summer? I’m sure that’ll get us there in one place.”

Azula didn’t take her own idea seriously, but judging by the excited glimmer in Weasley’s eyes, _he_ did.

“Why didn’t I think of it before?” Weasley slapped his own forehead in disbelief, “The Ford Anglia.”

“The _what_?” Azula sneered.

“The _Ford Anglia_.” Weasley repeated, though Azula got the feeling he was merely repeating himself instead of giving her a genuine answer, “Dad drove us here with the car. He charmed it so it can turn invisible. We can use that to get to Hogwarts.”

Azula’s eyebrows raised as she leaned closer to the red-haired Gryffindor.

“Are you certifiably _insane_?” Azula scoffed, “There’s no way in _hell_ that I’m using a hunk of metal to get to school.”

Weasley chuckled.

“No one said anything about bringing _you_ , Ryland.” He laughed, “I was talking about Harry and I. You can stay here and –”

“We’re bringing her.” Harry cut Weasley off, and the red-head turned to him incredulously, “I don’t care what you have to say, Ron. We’re bringing her, and that’s that.”

“Oh no, you’re not.” Azula shook her head. She would find her own way to Hogwarts, even if she had to walk. There was no way she was going to let two Gryffindors help her in a time of need, no matter how petty that sounded.

Weasley threw his hands up in the air.

“ _See_!” He exclaimed, “She doesn’t even want to go with us.”

Azula tuned out the rest of their conversation, choosing instead to shrink her luggage and owl cage into pocket-sized objects, allowing her owl – Sapphira – to perch comfortably on her shoulder as she put her belongings in her pockets. All she knew was that there was absolutely no chance of Harry and his lackey getting her to enter that junky car for the second time this summer.

* * *

Azula couldn’t believe that she let Harry convince her to get into the Weasley-owned car for the _second_ time that summer. She was still in shock as she entered the back seat of the Ford Anglia, her owl standing in her lap obediently. She watched as Weasley pushed a small, blue button on the front of the car – Azula heard him refer to it as a _dashboard_ – turning the car and its inhabitants invisible. With that done, he started up the car, and before Azula knew it, they were off.

She took in the scenery of Great Britain, appreciating the landscape in a way that the Hogwarts Express admittedly didn’t allow her to. She scanned the greens of the trees and the blues of the sky around them, the grayish whites of the surrounding clouds and the barely perceptible dots of people walking on the ground below them. The sound of Harry and Ron – even Azula could admit that it got a bit tiring referring to people by last name – conversing in the background was muted to her as she observed the land from the window on her left.

So caught up in her observations, she almost missed the motions of a few of the people hundreds of feet below the car. Upon closer inspection, aided by the squinting of her eyes, Azula realized that the people were pointing at the car. Had she been driving the car herself, she would’ve been a bit more concerned, but she didn’t think it was really her problem. She settled for tapping Harry on the shoulder, an action that prompted the green-eyed boy to turn around.

“You _do_ realize that the muggles can see us, right?” Azula asked, her tone as casual as if she were discussing the color of the sky, “They’re pointing at us.”

Harry’s eyes widened, but it was Ron who responded.

“Oh _no_.” He groaned, and he slammed his hands on the steering wheel, “Dad’s gonna kill me if this interferes with his Ministry job.” Ron was quiet for a moment before he struck the steering wheel once again, “ _Mum’s_ gonna kill me first. I can’t _believe_ this.”

Azula wanted to say that technically, he was the one who thought it would be a brilliant idea to take the flying care in the first place once Azula had suggested it. _She_ had only been kidding, but it seemed as if sarcasm was lost on the red-head. She decided on not saying anything. Watching Harry and Ron squirm in despair was rewarding enough.

Soon enough, the scarlet Hogwarts Express became visible, insight that Harry was quick to point out. All Ron had to do now was follow it and try not to get lost. It was a simple concept, right? Follow the attention-seeking color, and not getting lost.

Of course, as usual, when Harry and Ron were involved, nothing could go right.

The Ford Anglia, which had already lost its invisibility charm, was now completely out of Ron’s control, as if it suddenly had a mind of its own. It jerked wildly, all but tossing its inhabitants around like trashy rag dolls. Sapphira hooted angrily from her place in Azula’s lap, and she wrapped an arm protectively around the thrashing owl.

The Great Lake came into view, and by then, the car began careening downwards. Having always been good at imagining things spatially, Azula inferred that the car wouldn’t go plunging into the lake. It would just barely miss it, and head straight towards the area before the Forbidden Forrest.

Making sure that her pockets – which still contained her luggage and owl’s cage – were securely fastened, Azula reached for the car door handle. Harry, who had seen her motion in his peripheral, looked at her skeptically.

“Please tell me you’re not about to do what I think you’re gonna do.” Harry pleaded with her, and Azula couldn’t help but smile at his naivety. He really didn’t know her at all. When she was determined to do something, she did it, not heeding any obstacle that entered her path.

One way or another, she had already decided that she was going to get to Hogwarts unscathed.

“Have fun crashing.” Azula deadpanned, jumping out of the still moving car with all the resolve she had gathered.

She could hear Harry screaming her name, but chose not to focus on that. Concentrating on her breathing, Azula gathered her chi, letting it be released from her feet in the form of firebending. All summer, she had been practicing the art of jet propulsion – the ability to use fire to fly through the air or swiftly on the ground – and would not let all of her practice go to waste.

Large arcs of fire left her feet with her successful attempt at the technique. She soared over the Great Lake, and a brown blur moved quickly in front of her. She smirked proudly – Sapphira had managed to escape the madness that was the flying car as well. Never before had she attempted jet propulsion over such a vast area – the Firinian courtyard was only so large – but she found that her stamina did not fail her.

Of course, as soon as she had that thought, she got tired. She tried her best to propel herself further – the shore was only 500 feet away at most – but she just couldn’t manage to keep herself going. Her firebending began to give out, and she felt herself free-falling. It felt as if everything were going in slow motion, and Azula hated to use that cliché, but it was necessary. Sapphira, noticing that her owner was falling, swooped down to her level, using her beak to valiantly try and grab onto Azula’s robes. The momentum of her fall, however, only sent them both plunging straight into the Great Lake.

Her father had never emphasized the importance of swimming – and she really should’ve taken it upon herself to learn after the time Zuko almost drowned when they were children – and she was regretting it now. She held her breath for as long as she could, flailing wildly in an attempt to reach the surface. Something cold and clammy wrapped around her wrist, yanking her upwards until she above the surface of the water. Sapphira was flapping her wings above her, her way of drying off only serving to soak Azula further. With a huff, Azula flailed her legs in the water, feeling herself falling back below the water’s surface. However, before she could be completely submerged, the thing that had grabbed her wrist pulled her along, and she suddenly felt herself sitting atop a slightly rubbery surface. She didn’t dare look down at what was moving her through the water, fearing that her potential shock would jolt her into the water.

Within seconds, she had reached the shore, and the same thing that had been wrapped around her wrist pushed her onto the ground. Breathing deeply through her nose, she allowed her body temperature to rise, effectively drying most of her body and clothes. She only hoped that the items still inside her pocket remained dry throughout the chaos. Curiously, she turned around – intrigued by what had brought her to the shore and effectively saved her life – and immediately paused.

The black eyes of the Giant Squid stared right back at her.

* * *

Draco had begun to worry when he didn’t see Azula during the sorting of the new students. Astoria, who had gotten into Slytherin, was sitting on his right side. Noticing his quiet manner, she nudged him in the ribs. Pansy Parkinson was on his left side, talking avidly to Daphne Greengrass.

“You’ve been quiet ever since we got on the train.” She whispered as a person by the name of “Luna Lovegood” got sorted into Ravenclaw, “I thought you said you had a friend to introduce me to. Did you make her up?”

Draco scowled, nudging his longtime friend back.

“ _No_.” Draco murmured harshly, “She’s a _real_ person. I just don’t know where she is. She was supposed to be on the train with us, but never showed.”

A quick glance at the Gryffindor table told Draco that Potter and Weasley were nowhere to be found. His heart dropping into his stomach, he had a horrible thought.

 _What if those two idiots found a way to sabotage Azula returning to Hogwarts_?

As soon as the thought entered his head, he quickly dispelled it. The thought was ridiculous. Azula was more than capable of withstanding the two Gryffindors. A tap on his shoulder brought his attention to the person behind him, and a feeling of relief engulfed him.

Azula had made it after all.

“Where have you been?” Draco asked her, making room for her to sit on his left.

Azula sighed heavily, and it was then that Draco took in her disheveled appearance. Her top knot was slanted in her hair, her bangs weren’t neat, and parts of her school robes were wet. She looked as if she had decided to take a swim in the Great Lake.

She told him the tale of how Dobby had tried to warn Potter about the dangers that awaited him at Hogwarts. About how a personal item of hers had piqued Dobby’s interest. How Dobby had made it so the entrance to Platform 9 ¾ was impenetrable, and how she had to take Weasley’s family car to Hogwarts before deciding to jump in the Great Lake, ultimately being saved by the infamous Giant Squid itself.

Draco could only blink in disbelief, and it was Astoria who spoke up.

“Leave it to _you_ to jump out of a bloody car in midair, Azula.” Astoria shook her head, mirth in her hazel eyes, “But at least you get to welcome me to Slytherin properly now.”

Azula snorted, but the hint of a smile was on her face.

“Welcome to Slytherin, Astoria.” She said in a faux proud tone, “I’m so glad that while I nearly _died_ , you’re more concerned about being sorted into Hogwarts’ best house.”

“Wait a minute.” Draco interjected, raising a hand to his chin as he looked back and forth between the two brunettes, “You two _know_ each other?”

Astoria grinned, wrapping an arm around Draco’s shoulders as he was caught up in his own state of disbelief. The two most _infuriating_ friends he had knew each other? He could already tell this wouldn’t end well for him.

“If I had known this was the friend you were talking about, I would’ve burst your little bubble a long time ago.” She insisted, “Don’t you remember? My father let me stay here for Christmas last year, and I told you I had met a fellow Slytherin.”

Draco racked his mind for that particular conversation, but his mind blanked on it. He couldn’t get past the fact that they actually knew each other.

“You talk about me, Draco?” Azula asked smugly, resting her left forearm on the table so she could look at him properly, “Do tell.”

Draco shook his head, refusing to further amuse her. Reaching in front of him on the table, he picked up a medium-sized box, handing it over to Azula. It had an elegant green and silver bow tying it together, and while he wished he could take credit for the presentation, he had his mother to thank. Azula peered inside the box from the transparent top.

“A _cupcake_?” Azula frowned, looking incredulously at Draco, “Why are you giving me a cupcake?”

Draco rolled his eyes, amused at knowing something that she didn’t.

“You once told me that your birthday was on the hottest day in the Fire Nation during the year we were born.” Draco recited matter-of-factly, “I looked it up. Don’t ask me how I did, but I found out that the day in question was August 31st, 1980. Therefore, your birthday was yesterday.”

Draco took in the stunned look on Azula’s face, and smiled softly at her.

“Happy belated birthday, Azula.”

Azula didn’t look capable of words at the time, but Astoria filled the silence with an “ _aww_.” Regaining her composure, Azula traced the outline of the cupcake box with her left pointer finger. She granted him a slight smile, and said nothing more.

Draco just knew that despite whatever trouble Azula had on her way to Hogwarts, this would be a good year for the two of them.


	17. Fame and Insults

Draco recanted all his hopes for a better school year than last year when he took a proper look at his Defense Against the Dark Arts books. They were all centered around the new professor – Gilderoy Lockheart – and he didn’t think he’d ever seen someone so self-centered.

Scratch that. Potter was still alive.

“He can’t really expect us to read these.” Draco scoffed, throwing his copy of _Year with the Yeti_ onto one of the Slytherin common room couches. It was only the second day of school, and he was already unimpressed with Hogwarts’ teaching staff.

“Let me see this.” Astoria spoke up from next to him, Azula on her other side as she picked up the discarded book. She promptly started laughing as she flipped to the first page of the third chapter, showcasing Lockheart with some kind of strange creature, “This is obviously fake.”

Draco peered closely at the book, unable to understand how she had come to her conclusion.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Look there.” Azula pointed to the blue background of the picture, “The colors are distorted. These two images are not from the same source. It’s a fabrication, and our new professor is a fraud.”

Upon closer inspection, Draco realized that while the blue background behind Lockheart was consistent in color, the supposed _yeti_ in the picture with him was surrounded by a more purple background. The change was subtle, but still very much there.

“I can’t believe we have to endure this imposter of a professor.” Azula huffed, flicking one of her bangs out her eyes in annoyance, “This is more of a history class than _Defense_. If you’re going to make us take a history class, make it about something more relevant.”

“Like, I don’t know, about _you_?” Draco knew that Azula would never pass up an opportunity to boast about her royal heritage.

“ _Exactly_.” Azula took him very seriously, nodding her head, “At least let us learn about something of _importance_. What am I ever going to use the knowledge of Lockheart’s favorite color for? World domination? _No_. Ridding the world of weak people? _No_. See? It’s useless.”

Draco resisted the urge to laugh. It was typical _Azula_ to be concern about being more powerful than others. Granted, Draco himself didn’t mind the concept of power. He was a Malfoy and a Slytherin, so it was natural for him to have some sort of superiority complex; though if Draco were asked, it would be less of a complex and more of a benefit.

He looked at the _Year with the Yeti_ book again and let out a miserable sigh. His father would kill him if his grades slipped – Malfoys were supposed to be the best at everything – but he didn’t know how he’d ever stomach reading all about the life of a self-absorbed man. It had absolutely nothing to do with _Defense_.

At least with Quirrell, he had learned useful things.

“As much as I’d love to gossip about incompetent professors with my two favorite people in the _entire_ world,” Astoria’s voice was dripping with sarcasm as she stood up, brushing down the fabric of her skirt, “my first class of the year is with Lockheart in five minutes. Wish me luck.”

Allowing Draco and Azula no time to respond, Astoria left the common room, and with her, the subject of Gilderoy Lockheart disappeared for the time being.

* * *

“I’m going to be one of the Slytherin chasers. Flint’s the other.” Draco was telling Azula, to which the Firinian princess wanted to drown out. She cared not for menial things such as sports, “I just don’t understand why you won’t at least _consider_ trying out for seeker.”

Azula leveled him with a glare. Herbology with the Ravenclaws hadn’t been eventful – only Michael Corner had to be sent to the Hospital Wing for too much exposure to the harsh screams of baby Mandrakes – and all Azula had wanted was some peace and quiet before eventually having _Defense_ with the Gryffindors.

“Do I _look_ like I have the time to go on meaningless treasure hunts?” Azula snarked, because in truth, that’s all seeking really was – _a glorified treasure hunt_ , “You truly expect me to waste my time looking – in midair, might I add – for a golden sphere that decides to evade me every time I get close to it?”

The look Draco gave her in return gave her all the answer she needed, and she shook her head vigorously.

“You’re going to have to take _no_ for an answer, Draco.” Azula sniffed, “I have plenty of other things I could be doing than chasing balls in midair.”

Draco stared at her incredulously. The look on his face was one of pure disbelief.

“Like _what_?”

“Studying.” Azula answered him curtly. She had her new journal in mind, but she wouldn’t tell Draco about it. Not yet, at least, “I’m teaching myself new things, and I simply won’t have the time for quidditch games.”

Draco seemed to be pondering her words, and for a moment, Azula thought he was actually taking her seriously. He was quiet, and Azula took his silence as a sign of her own victory. When he looked back up at her, however, she knew that the blond Slytherin was too stubborn to give up. He leaned closer to her, as if he wished to impart the secret of infinite power to her.

“You like hitting things.” Draco stated simply, curling his arm on the back of the couch they were currently sitting on, “And people, am I right?”

“I like inflicting pain on others.” Azula murmured honestly. A vivid mental image of her getting a younger Zuko to sit on a hot flame came to mind, and she grinned maliciously. Oh _yes_ , inflicting pain was her specialty.

With her answer came a smirk on Draco’s face.

“What if I told you that quidditch had a role for that?” Draco’s eyes told her that he was amused, “A position where you’d be able to hit large projectiles at players on the other team without any kind of repercussion?”

Azula recalled the fact that her own brother was on the Gryffindor quidditch team, and it _would_ be nice to knock him out of the air. She envisioned him falling to the ground, crying like a baby as many of his bones were shattered.

The idiot could hardly handle a mere scar without wailing about how life was unfair.

Azula leaned closer to Draco in return.

“I’m listening.”

* * *

“No. _Absolutely not_!” Draco enjoyed the infuriated expression on Oliver Wood’s face as he glared at Marcus Flint, the Slytherin quidditch captain who just informed him that Professor Snape gave him permission to use the quidditch field, “I got permission from McGonagall to have the field for the next hour and a half. We didn’t wake up this early to share the field with foul Slytherins!”

Truth be told, it wasn’t _that_ early on in the day. Draco had already been able to have one class. The Gryffindor captain didn’t seem to care, though. His face was heated, his dark eyes blazing with barely concealed loathing, and yet, Flint just smirked. The elder Slytherin waved a piece of parchment in front of Wood’s face, which the Gryffindor captain snatched. Draco could see as Potter and the rest of the team huddled around him, all in a hurry to verify Flint’s words. As the truth settled in, it was Zuko Ryland who spoke up.

“You can’t do this.” He was shaking his head, and there was a determined set to his jaw, “You can take everything else away from me, but let me have this.”

Zuko’s words were directed towards the entirely of the Slytherin quidditch team, but his gaze was locked solely on Azula. A quick glance at his classmate told him that Zuko’s indignation was bringing her great joy.

“I’m going to enjoy knocking you out of the sky.” Azula shrugged casually, though her eyes belied her amusement. She stopped for a moment to think, tapping her chin mockingly, “On second thought,” she gestured to Zuko’s left eye, “if I’m lucky enough – and you _know_ how my luck is – I’ll be able to give you a _matching scar_.”

Not even the look of fury on Zuko’s face could have prepared Draco for his reaction. Lips curled into a sneer, he lunged at his sister, faster than anyone could try to hold him back. Azula didn’t move, not until the last moment when she moved her feet in a complicated manner, somehow managing to flip her older brother onto his back on the grassy ground. She had an almost bored look on her face as she rested a foot on Zuko’s chest, watching the shocked glances of the Gryffindor quidditch team. The Slytherins, on the other hand, erupted in snickers. Draco couldn’t help but be impressed by Azula’s agility. He assumed it was a result of her supposedly vigorous firebending training.

“And this is why father likes me more.” Azula boasted, and as Draco looked over to see Potter’s reaction, he wasn’t surprised to see the emerald-eyed boy frowning. His perceptiveness told him that there was a deeper meaning behind the look than he was letting on.

“Are you sure about that?” Potter asked her quietly, and Draco was stunned that the boy had the gall to question her.

A flash of an emotion that Draco didn’t recognize entered Azula’s eyes, and he found that he didn’t like the look on her. There was something simultaneously ireful and vulnerable in her eyes, but it was gone before Draco could properly discern what it was.

“Do _not_ try me, Potter.” Azula said darkly, and – whether it was because of how she addressed him or the content of her words – Potter flinched.

Draco didn’t know what he could say to diffuse the suddenly awkward tension that had arisen, and a brief glance at Flint told him that he didn’t know either. He cleared his throat, pasting a cocky grin on his face.

“Besides.” Draco said boisterously, holding his broom high in the air, “Why would you even need to practice when our _superior_ brooms and team will just disgrace you? My father bought the whole team Nimbus 2001 broomsticks. And what do _you_ _all_ have?”

Draco didn’t give them the chance to answer.

“School brooms.” Draco tutted, “How sad. Now, why don’t you do yourselves a favor and leave the field to the professionals?”

Flint found his voice again, patting Draco firmly on the back.

“That’s right.” Flint smirked, “If you’ll excuse me, I have a chaser to train.”

“And a beater.” Azula spoke up, her smug gaze locked on her brother, who had since then shoved her foot off of his chest, refusing any help as he got himself off of the ground, “I’ve decided that I’ll join the team as well.”

Draco allowed his grin to widen. He knew that Azula wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation of joining the team, if only to spite her brother. Her countenance was all he needed to confirm his judgment.

With a heavy sigh, Wood shook his head in defeat. He ran a hand over his exhausted-looking face, brown eyes lowered to the ground before he looked up at Flint.

“We’ll share the field.” It looked as if it pained Wood to say the words. He swallowed audibly, “Don’t try anything.”

Wood looked as if he were going to spontaneously combust at any second. He looked around at the newly founded quidditch team, appearing to be counting them before a weak smile came to his lips.

“Where’s your seeker?” Wood queried.

Draco took stock of his team and wondered the same thing, but Flint only brushed Wood’s concerns off.

“Malia’s seeker this year.” Flint shrugged, to which Wood started laughing.

“Malia _di Angelo_?” Wood sputtered between laughter, “The Slytherin ice queen herself? The one with a permanent stick lodged up her –”

“ _Yes_.” Flint snapped, cutting the Gryffindor captain off, “She’ll do it whether she wants to or not when she knows what I know.”

Momentarily, Draco felt a bit of concern for the absent Slytherin seeker. She was Blaise’s older cousin, and he at least spoke to her on a few occasions. She wasn’t as bad as people made her out to be, and maybe it was his loyalty to Blaise, but he decided that he’d warn the elder Slytherin about what Flint was planning.

Nevertheless, he basked in his own current happiness. He would get to be on the Slytherin quidditch team as a chaser, and he knew that Potter would stand no chance against them this year.

* * *

Draco hadn’t expected to find Malia di Angelo as easily as he had. He had left his books for _Defense_ in the common room, and had told Azula to go on without him, a request that the Slytherin princess was all too happy to adhere to.

He found her not too far from the _Defense_ classroom, almost bumping into her as he turned a corner. With the two of them being proud Slytherins, neither apologized. Malia stared at him stoically, and Draco internally wondered when Blaise’s older cousin had become so jaded. She was a far cry from the more carefree, eager to be a Slytherin girl she had been when they were children. Now, standing in front of him as Head Girl, she looked as if she loathed everyone and everything.

“Is there something you’d like to say to me, Draco?” Malia asked dryly, already looking uninterested with his presence, “Or would you rather stand here an admire my aristocratic beauty some more?”

Malia di Angelo had to be the only person Draco knew that _didn’t_ brag about her own appearance. She was beautiful, with curly black hair that fell to her waist, and chocolate brown eyes so similar to Blaise’s. She didn’t need anyone to affirm her beauty, and yet, she didn’t sound boastful when speaking of it.

Still, Draco didn’t appreciate her tone, and leveled her with a haughty look.

“I thought you’d want to know that Flint made you seeker.” Draco sneered, “But if you want to stand here and –”

“What are you talking about?” Malia cut him off rudely, her eyes narrowing, “I specifically told that idiot that I wouldn’t be trying out.”

“He mentioned having something on you.” Draco replied, a bit upset at having been cut off, “I was trying to _help_ you, since you’re Blaise’s cousin and all, but if you want to insist on being rude, deal with him yourself.”

Draco made it no more than a few steps before he felt a hand enclose his wrist. He didn’t have to look at the person to know that it was Malia. Her expression had changed completely. Gone was her monotonous appearance, and in its place was a look of subdued panic in her eyes.

“Did he –” Malia started before cutting herself off. She didn’t seem to know how she wanted to phrase what she was going to say, “Did he mention anything specifically about _what_ it was that he had on me?”

At the shake of Draco’s head, Malia let out a relieved sigh.

“My mother says I’m betrothed to him.” Malia murmured quietly, and Draco didn’t know if she meant to be speaking aloud, “I’m not going to marry him. I _won’t_.”

Draco hadn’t even known that she was engaged to Flint. For that matter, Draco couldn’t imagine _anyone_ engaged to the brutish Slytherin, much less the passively aggressive Malia di Angelo. A flash of yellow caught Draco’s eye, and was gone before he knew what it was. He supposed it could’ve been Hufflepuff robes. Malia must’ve seen it too, having turned her back on Draco during her quiet tirade.

“Listen, I appreciate this,” Malia said hurriedly, a renewed sense of vigor in her dark eyes as she gave Draco a firm pat on the shoulder, “but I’ve got to get going.”

She hesitated, biting down on her lip before sighing, making direct eye contact with him for her next words.

“And not a word of this to Blaise.”

Giving him no chance to respond, Malia spun on her heel, going straight for the direction she had just come from. Staring at her in disbelief, Draco couldn’t imagine who he’d tell, or even _what_. As far as he was concerned, there nothing to tell. He didn’t even get any proper information about her, aside from the fact that she was somehow engaged to Flint.

Continuing his trek towards his _Defense_ class, Draco saw that a small crowd had formed outside of the classroom. He could see a young, mousy boy in Gryffindor robes practically pushing a camera into Harry Potter’s face. The second-year Gryffindor looked uncomfortable, and Draco felt the beginnings of a smirk slide onto his face.

Cracking his knuckles, he walked over to the crowd, ready to give Potter a hard time. It was just too fun to pass up.

* * *

Azula was great at many things. She was an adept firebender and martial artist. A potions master in the making, and she excelled at transfiguration. Charms class was a joke, and her performance on the quidditch field earlier that day – when she almost bashed Marcus Flint’s face in with a forceful bludger – showed that she was an amazing beater.

What she wasn’t good at, however, was giving into the self-praise of others.

On the first day of Defense Against the Dark Arts, Professor Lockheart – having replaced Quirrell, who deservedly burned to death – arrogantly gave them an exam. Azula understood the concept of surprise examinations, but as soon as she saw the questions on said exam, she knew that this year was going to be miserable.

  1. _What is Gilderoy Lockheart’s favorite color?_
  2. _What is Gilderoy Lockheart’s secret ambition?_



At seeing the first few questions, Azula skimmed towards the bottom of the exam parchment, wanting to see if the rest of the exam was as blasphemous as the first half. Once she saw the question asking about his “best side for photographs,” she threw her parchment down in frustration, just in time for Lockheart to insist that time was up.

The sorry excuse of a professor eagerly scanned through the exams, the warm smile on his face gradually lessening until he was clearly frowning.

“It looks as if none of you have done your summer reading.” Lockheart chastised, “How do you expect to become as renowned as me if you don’t even know that my favorite color is _lilac_?”

No one said a word, allowing Lockheart to continue.

“The only person in here who earned a perfect scored is Miss Hermione Granger.” Lockheart looked up from the pile of exams, “Can Ms. Granger please raise her hand?”

Azula watched in disgust as Hermione shyly did as she was told. The Gryffindor girl was biting her lower lip to stop a pleased grin from coming onto her face.”

“Very good. Ten points to Gryffindor.” Lockheart winked at her, and Azula didn’t miss the red tinge that appeared on Hermione’s cheeks, “And can Azula Ryland please raise her hand?”

Azula sighed. She already knew what he was going to call her out for, and really wasn’t in the mood for it.

“Is there a reason that you’ve singled me out in front of all my… _lovely_ peers?” Azula asked, her tone saccharine.

“Indeed there is.” Lockheart nodded, raising Azula’s exam for the entire class to see, “Would you care to explain to the class why you’ve left the entire exam _blank_?”

As Azula expected, the Gryffindors – sans Harry and Hermione – began to laugh. Even Neville Longbottom gave a nervous smile. The Slytherins remained silent, waiting to see how she would respond.

“Well, _professor_ ,” Azula let his name drip from her lips venomously, “I could’ve written endlessly about how your favorite color is lilac. Or how you secretly want to rid the world of evil and start some asinine hair-care product line. Or that you’re so conceited that you don’t know if you have a best “photograph side” because you think it’s too hard to choose. Let me tell you, I don’t think any of your sides have anything going for them.”

The Gryffindors, by then, had stopped laughing, staring at Azula in open-mouthed horror. Hermione had placed her hands over her chest, eyes wide in shock as Harry wore the most surprised look Azula had ever seen on his face. The Slytherins, on the other hand, found her hilarious, starting to laugh egregiously. Azula, unfazed, soldiered on.

“I could’ve told you all you wanted to know about yourself, because my semantic memory is photographic in quality. That is, facts are my forte.” Azula murmured, leaning forward in her seat to rest her chin on top of her clasped hands in boredom, “But the fact of the matter is that I simply don’t find you important enough to merit a whole exam.”

From his place beside her, Draco was laughing so hard that his whole face was turning red. Blaise had allowed an amused smirk on his face, and Daphne Greengrass had buried her face in his shoulder, trying in vain to conceal her laughter. Crabbe and Goyle, who were usually slow to understand jokes, laughed obnoxiously, and even Pansy Parkinson cracked a smile.

The only one who – aside from the Gryffindors – wasn’t laughing was Professor Lockheart himself. He wore a stunned look, placing the exams on his nearby desk. He looked as if he didn’t know whether to join in on the laughter, cry, or hex her. Finally, he allowed a small smile to show.

“I hadn’t realized that you read my book so thoroughly.” Lockheart said through slightly gritted teeth, the smile on his face looking faker and faker as the seconds went by, “Ten points to Slytherin, though I’ll have to deduct two points for your unnecessarily rude commentary.”

Azula shrugged, and the Slytherins around her cheered. Lockheart, in an attempt to restore order to the classroom, cleared his throat loudly.

“Now that that’s settled.” Lockheart grinned, as if Azula had never insulted him, “Allow me to teach you the proper technique for ridding yourself of a Cornish pixie infestation. _Believe me_. They’re no laughing matter. They’re _real_ , Mr. Goyle, so I’d appreciate it if your laughter would cease, thank you.”

* * *

 _It takes an idiot to not know that “peskipiksi pesternomi” isn’t a real incantation_.

Azula had long since settled in her four-poster bed, choosing to write in her journal as a way to relieve stress. Her journal companion’s response was prompt.

_Your professor sounds like a fake._

Azula didn’t hesitate to reply.

_Tell me about it._

Azula thought back to what the person behind the journal had promised her a few days prior and frowned.

_You told me that you’d share some of your secrets of power with me. Why haven’t you done it yet?_

Azula’s words were tinged with impatience, but she didn’t care. If she was going to spend a year with _Lockheart_ as the professor for her favorite class, she needed a viable distraction to look forward to. The journal’s response was swift.

_Patience , princess. I will show you all I know in dear time. Be patient with me. I promise it will be worth your while._

Azula didn’t appreciate being made to wait, but she understood that she didn’t have much of a choice. For all she knew, the person behind this journal could be playing some elaborate prank on her, but the possibility of him being sincere was too alluring to ignore.

It was with the thought of increasing her power and making her father proud that she fell asleep.

* * *

_White, a blinding white. That’s all Azula could see. She blinked to gather her bearings, but her surroundings didn’t want to cooperate, only allowing the whiteness of the scenery to gradually dissipate into a peaceful meadow. She looked around her, trying to find someone who could tell her where she was, but to no avail._

_“You won’t find what it is you seek here, Princess Azula.” The voice startled Azula, and had she been sitting down, she would’ve fallen straight onto her back. Instead, she remained in a floating position._

_Her eyes darted across the meadow swiftly, trying to figure out who had addressed her._

_“Who’s there?” Azula didn’t like how her voice echoed._

_“Forgotten my voice already?” The voice sounded almost sad, but Azula still couldn’t place it, “Never mind that. You need to leave that journal alone.”_

_Azula rolled her eyes. She wouldn’t be surprised if this hallucinatory experience was being caused by Dobby, the annoying house-elf who had been trying to take the journal from her. She knew that house-elves had some sort of magic, but didn’t know exactly how it worked. Perhaps, they were able to influence dreams._

_“Get out of my head_ **_elf_ ** _!” Azula spat out the last word, “And let me wake up!”_

_“I’ve never been anything but a mere mortal man, until I wasn’t.” The voice continued, purposely ignoring what Azula had said, “I’m trying to help you. I’ve always had your best interests at heart.”_

_“No one has my interests at heart aside from my father.” Azula sneered, “So I’m going to tell you for the last time. Whoever you are, get the_ **_hell_ ** _out of my head!”_

_The voice was quiet for a moment, and Azula took it as meaning that the voice was going to let her wake up. When the voice started talking again, Azula released a long groan._

_“It is in your best interest to leave that journal alone.” The voice emphasized, and before Azula could even open her mouth to retort, it went on, “But a part of having your interests at heart is letting you make your own mistakes and trusting that you’ll eventually see the error of your ways.”_

_Azula rolled her eyes. She was done entertaining this random voice._

_“Are you going to drop me now?” Azula pointed towards the ground, “I have things I could be doing right now other than talking to you.”_

_The voice released a chuckle._

_“I’d never let you fall.” The voice murmured before a_ **_snap_ ** _sounded._

Abruptly, Azula was brought back into the land of the awake. She chanced a glance under her pillow to make sure her journal was still there, and once satisfied, let out a sigh and flopped back onto her bed.

She wasn’t going to let anyone take her journal from her, even if she had to guard it with her life.


	18. Life is But a Dream

_Azula didn’t know where she was – or why she was there, for that matter – but she_ **_did_ ** _know that it was dark. She raised her hand to procure a flame and light her surroundings, but found that she was unable to. Try as she might, she couldn’t create a flame._

_Looking down, she could just barely make out the features of a figure she assumed was a girl. She tried to get closer, but it was as if she were suspended in midair. Huffing indignantly, Azula squinted in an attempt to make out the features of the girl._

_Nothing._

_She couldn’t see the girl’s eyes, or her face. The only thing she could see was the fact that her hair was down, reaching somewhere around her waist. She appeared to be holding something, based on the positioning of her hands, but again, Azula couldn’t see much._

_Sighing, Azula leaned back from her position in midair, resigned to the fact that she was having a dream in which she was conscious of the fact that it was a dream, but could do nothing about it. She watched as the mystery girl walked alone in what appeared to be a hallway in Hogwarts, though she was unsure of exactly which one._

_She didn’t know what floor the girl was on – it was too dark for that – but she soon stopped in front of two grandiose doors. A hissing sound could be heard in the darkness, and Azula knew instinctively that it was coming from the girl herself. The serpentine sounds made a shudder run down Azula’s back, as if she were being doused with ice water. As quickly as the hissing started, it stopped, and the large doors opened, revealing a chamber of sorts._

_Inside the chamber was a single lit candle, or so Azula thought. The unavailability of light nearly caused Azula to miss a large creature emerge from the shadows, just barely being lit by the flame. The features of the creature were obscured, but Azula knew it was something large, and, most probably, hideous._

_She watched as the female figured stepped aside from the chamber’s entrance, allowing the creature to step out into the hallway. The chamber closed with a resounding thud behind the two of them, and Azula was surprised at the fact that the loud noise drew no attention. Not from the portraits, or from the potentially patrolling professors or prefects._

_Together, the female figure and the creature trekked through the darkened halls of Hogwarts, avoiding the moving staircase as they walking down the corridors of the first floor. A soft meow caught Azula’s attention, and based on the stiffening of both the creature and the female figure, they were aware of the new sound._

_Looking beyond the two figures, Azula was able to make out Mrs. Norris, Filch’s cat. The nosy cat was known for lurking the halls late at night, followed closely by her owner in an effort to catch people out of their dormitories past curfew. This time, however, there was no sign of Filch. It looked as if Mrs. Norris was on her own tonight._

_Azula didn’t understand why she suddenly feared for the cat’s safety. She couldn’t explain the feeling of impending doom that seized her chest, but more than anything, she wanted the cat to scurry away. Of course, the cat did no such thing, and upon seeing that, the two figures took action._

_Raising a hand, the female figure pointed a single finger at Mrs. Norris, commencing her hissing once again. By this point, Azula realized that the hissing was some sort of code, or even language. She made a mental note to focus on language books the next time she was in the library. As if obeying a command, the massive creature walked slowly towards Mrs. Norris, head facing straight forward, as if it hadn’t even noticed the intrusive cat, and as Mrs. Norris finally tried to run away, backing away slowly with feline eyes locked on the creature, the unthinkable happened._

_Mrs. Norris was turned to stone._

_The large creature had hardly spared the cat a glance, only pointing its head down at a very slight angle, but it was as if whatever eye-contact was established was enough to turn the cat into a literal shell of its former self. Petrified, the cat fell over onto its side, unmoving._

_Abruptly, the female figure spun on her heel, going back in the direction in which she came with the creature on her heels. Azula noted that the girl took great care not to look directly at the creature, and an inexplicable sense of relief washed over her at that realization. The two continued on until they had returned to the chamber – the creature entering it soundlessly and the girl hissing in order to lock it._

_With that, the girl turned away from the chamber and made her way towards the dungeons. Based on the rigidity of her movements, Azula surmised that the girl wasn’t in her right state of mind. She herself didn’t have an answer as to why that may be, but the girl’s movements were just too unnatural to be deemed anything other than artificial._

_As the girl walked through the dungeon corridors, Azula felt a sense of trepidation arise in her stomach. What if the girl tried to enter the Slytherin dungeons? What if the girl tried to take one of the Slytherins hostage?_

_What if –”_

Azula’s line of hypothetical inquiries was interrupted as she was pulled out of her sleep. For whatever reason – probably the adrenaline of her dream – she was breathless, and she raised a hand to her chest to regulate her breathing. Despite her efforts, she was unable to control her heavy breathing, and it was only when Pansy Parkinson yanked her curtains open that she returned to her usually snappy self.

“ _What_ is wrong with you?” Pansy’s tone told Azula that she was annoyed, “You woke me up! You’d better have a good explanation for – and _why are you still in your school robes_? Ever heard of sleeping gowns?”

A quick glance downwards told Azula that the other girl was right. Though she did, in fact, have on a sleeping gown, it was almost completely obscured by the black school robes wrapped tightly around her. Confused, but unwilling to let Pansy know that she was caught off guard, she scowled at her.

“I’m going to give you three seconds to leave me be before I incinerate you.” Azula said, her deadly calm tone reminding her of her own father, “One –”

“I’m not afraid of you, Azula.” Pansy crossed her arms defiantly, standing her ground. Azula had to admit, the other girl had gotten bolder over the summer, but she still knew she wasn’t strong enough to overpower her.

“ _Two_.” Azula lifted her hand in warning, allowing her signature blue flame to hover in her palm.

She watched as Pansy gulped audibly, but still, the other Slytherin girl didn’t move. She didn’t know what the girl was trying to prove, but found that she was quickly growing tired of the charade. Azula sighed.

“ _Three_.” Azula emphasized the word by augmenting her flame. The heat was intense in the small space between her and Pansy, and as a natural firebender, Azula reveled in it. Pansy, however, became flushed, “Oh? You’re still here? Allow me to –”

“Don’t touch me, you freak!” Pansy shrieked, closing Azula’s curtain rapidly. The non-subtle footfalls let Azula know that the other girl had retreated to her own bed. She could hear Daphne Greengrass’ disgruntled cry of “ _Pansy, get off of me,_ ” and came to the conclusion that Pansy hadn’t quite made it to her own bed.

Satisfied, Azula reclined in her bed, back against the headboard. A swift look at her alarm clock told her that it was almost four in the morning, and knowing that she’d have to wake up shortly for firebending practice, she made the decision to stay awake.

Reaching behind her pillow, she grasped at her journal, opening it up to the latest page filled with writing. To her surprise, there was a note already waiting for her.

_See? I told you I would show you great power._

Azula frowned, reflecting on the events that had transpired since she went to sleep earlier that night. She couldn’t think of anything aside from the strange dream she just woke up from, but surely, the journal couldn’t be referring to something as inconsequential as that.

_Are you talking about the dreams? That was nothing more than a glorified nightmare sequence._

_If that is what you truly think, then perhaps, you aren’t equipped to handle my secrets like I initially thought you were._

The journal’s words were short and harsh. Had Zuko been on the receiving end of them, his feelings would’ve been hurt. Azula, on the other hand, was indignant. How _dare_ the journal insinuate that she wasn’t worthy of handling power.

_We had a deal. You said you were going to show me great power. You said you were going to show me your tricks. You’re nothing but a false prophet._

_If it’s my power you wish to see, you’ve seen nothing yet._

With the journal’s last few words, Azula sensed an air of finality. She figured that even if she replied to it, she wouldn’t be getting a response for a while. She reached under her pillow for something else, this time a long piece of parchment she had stolen from Zuko the week before. Pulling her curtain away from her bed, she let her feet dangle off the edge, pushing them into her crimson slippers. Stretching, she stood up, making her way to the door.

“Where are you going?” The voice belonged to Daphne Greengrass, and Azula couldn’t recall a time when the two of them had a simple conversation, “You _do_ realize that class doesn’t start for another few hours, right?”

Azula sneered at her, not that the elder Greengrass daughter took any notice, staring at her expectantly. She rolled her eyes. It must be a Greengrass trait to not acknowledge social signs of annoyance.

“Go back to sleep.” Azula shook her head, not bothering to give an explanation as she left the second-year girls dormitory.

When she had properly left the Slytherin dungeon, she took a good look at the parchment in her hand. She had overheard the Weasley twins saying some incantation every time they had it with them, and Azula wanted to know exactly what it did.

Zuko probably didn’t even realize it was missing.

“I solemnly swear that I’m up to no good.” Azula murmured quietly, mindful of the echo that could have sounded in the hallway.

She snorted to herself at the words she had just uttered. Leave it to her good for nothing brother to be up to absolutely nothing good. It wasn’t a surprise that he had acquainted himself with the Weasley twins. The twins had a penchant for causing mischief. Zuko had a penchant for getting himself involved in foolish trouble. They were the perfect trio.

Slowly, but surely, words appeared on the parchment, expanding until Azula found herself looking at a full-fledged map of Hogwarts. She could see the dot that indicated where she was currently standing, coupled with her first and last name. She could she Mrs. Norris, though the cat wasn’t moving about. She briefly remembered the dream she had about the cat, but quickly shook it out of her head.

It wouldn’t do to dwell on silly dreams.

Usually, she would train in an abandoned classroom, being careful to contain her flames, but if she had a map – the _Marauder’s Map_ , according to the top of the parchment – at her disposal, it would be stupid of her _not_ to use it to her advantage. Based on the map, the area with the least intrusions would be the seventh floor, near Gryffindor Tower. Rolling her eyes at the prospect of being so close to Gryffindors, Azula pulled her robe tighter around her and made her way towards her destination.

When she reached the seventh floor, after nearly stumbling on the moving staircases a few times, what she saw gave her pause. On the map, it said that the area in which she was standing was vast and spacious, but all she saw was a bland brick wall. She thought of how she desired a decent place to firebend, and looked down at the map again. Still, it showed her that there was endless space right in front of her. Just barely refraining from crushing the map in her grip, the only physical indication of Azula’s annoyance was the pursing of her lips. She had spent the better part of fifteen minutes trying to get there in the first place, and now, it looked as if she had just been wasting her –

A subtle creaking sound caught her attention, and Azula looked up. Against propriety, her mouth dropped open. Nothing could’ve prepared her for what she saw.

There in front of her – where there had previously been a blank wall – was a door.

* * *

“Why do you need a book on –” Draco took a moment to look at the spine of the book Azula was reading in the library, “Parseltongue?”

Azula didn’t respond at first, flipping furiously through the book. She stopped every now and again to scribble something down on a piece of paper before going right back to her reading. Draco frowned. He didn’t appreciate being ignored.

“Azula?” He resorted to poking her in the ribs.

A strange sound – was that laughter? – came from Azula’s mouth before she clamped her hand over it, sending Draco her harshest glare. Madam Pince’s hushing could be heard from a few tables away, but Draco thought it worth it to finally have his Slytherin companion’s attention.

“If you _must_ know,” Azula’s tone told him that she felt he _didn’t_ need to know, “I’m trying to learn Parseltongue – the hissing language, if you will.”

Draco couldn’t help the chuckles that escaped him. He could see Madam Pince glaring at him from her desk, but he ignored her in favor of seeing Azula’s reaction. As expected, the Firinian girl didn’t appreciate being laughed at.

“And _what_ is so funny?”

“You can’t _learn_ Parseltongue.” Draco grinned in amusement, “You’re either born with it, or you’re not. It’s not French or Italian. You can’t just read a book and take a class and expect to master it.”

If possible, Azula’s countenance became more serious.

“You’re kidding me.” Azula deadpanned, to which Draco shook his head. A frustrated look came onto Azula’s face and she let out a heavy sigh, placing her head in her hands.

Draco stared at her in concern. He didn’t know why she was having such a strong reaction to his words. He reached a hand out before thinking better of it.

“Are you alright?” He asked tentatively.

As if a switch was flipped, Azula sat up straight, placing the book on Parseltongue in her bag before standing up. It seemed as if she were contemplating something before deciding against it. She stared at him expectantly.

“Are you going to just sit there?” Azula whispered, and Draco realized that her tone was lowered for Madam Pince’s benefit, “Or are we going to dinner?”

There was something about Azula’s abrupt subject change that didn’t sit well with Draco, but he knew how stubborn his friend could be. He narrowed his eyes at her, unsurprised when she maintained the eye-contact unflinchingly.

_Stubborn indeed_.

“Fine.” Draco murmured, relenting to whatever mental duel they had just been engaged in.

She didn’t tell him what she was up to now, but he knew it was only a matter of time.

* * *

_The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir, beware._

Those were the first words Draco saw as he walked up the second-floor staircase. He surmised that the “heir” in question was the heir of Slytherin himself. After all, what other heir would be important enough to merit such an announcement? Azula, from her place next to him, was scrutinizing the words carefully. Her gaze lingered on the first sentence, and before Draco could ask her what she was thinking, the sound of hurried steps caught his attention.

Disheveled black hair and bright green eyes, Harry Potter looked a mess as he rounded the second-floor corner, Weasley and Granger right behind him. It was unlikely that they were just returning to their common room. They looked too guilty for that. Draco sent them a mockingly charming smile.

A crowd, by then, had gathered, pointing to a sight Draco hadn’t noticed before. A few feet away from him was the immobile body of Mrs. Norris. He felt a twinge of regret for always wishing death on the cat – he hadn’t been entirely serious, after all – but chose to send a mocking smirk towards Potter and his crew.

“All mudbloods beware!” Draco bellowed loudly for everyone to hear. The murmurs of the crowd intensified, and Draco yelled even louder to be heard, “You’ll be next, Granger!”

Uncharacteristically, Azula remained silent, and when he looked at her, he saw that her gaze was transfixed on the still immobile Mrs. Norris. He didn’t know what she was thinking, and her silence concerned him. Before he could properly address her, Filch’s distressed cries reached his ears, and Draco knew that the old Hogwarts caretaker had come upon the fate of his beloved cat.

The caretaker rounded on Potter, blaming him at once for Mrs. Norris’ apparent death. Dumbledore, followed by a legion of teachers, rushed to the scene, bending down to peer at the unmoving cat.

“Why don’t you come with me, Mr. Potter? Mr. Weasley? Ms. Granger?” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled, though this time, it was with concern instead of his usual merriment, “And you too, Ms. Ryland.”

Draco’s eyes widened. Azula couldn’t possibly be blamed for something that had Potter’s name all over it.

“But headmaster.” Draco protested, “Azula had nothing to do with –”

“The headmaster’s word is final, Mr. Malfoy.” Snape said coldly, and Draco wondered when his potions master godfather had arrived, “It would do you well to remember that.”

Helplessly, Draco was forced to watch as Azula was carted away with the likes of Potter, Weasley, and Granger, being led by Dumbledore, Snape, and Lockheart – the latter proclaiming that he knew exactly what killed Mrs. Norris.

“What’s going on around here?” Blaise’s voice entered the mix next to Draco, and as he turned to his Italian friend, he found that he didn’t have an answer for him.

“Something that you’d better not get yourself involved in.” Malia answered sharply from behind him, “ _Mi capisci_?”

“I understand you just fine.” Blaise retorted in English, crossing his arms over his chest with a slight pout, “I’m not a _bambino_ , Malia.”

Draco couldn’t enjoy the banter between the two cousins. His mind was too focused on everything that had happened. There was a sinister force at work at Hogwarts, and Draco knew that this was just the beginning.

* * *

“Would anyone care to explain what happened?” Azula immediately disliked Snape’s demeaning drawl. She stayed silent, determined not to say a word, but of course, Harry had to defend himself.

“We had nothing to do with it, Professor.” Harry pleaded, looking anxiously at Dumbledore for support. The elderly headmaster said nothing, “We’re just as surprised as you are, honest.”

Filch’s already unappealing features became even nastier when he scowled. It looked, to Azula, as if he were exerting every bit of his restraint not to lunge at Harry. If Azula were a nicer person, she would’ve dwelled on the fact that every time something went awry at Hogwarts, Harry was blamed.

“Lies!” Filch hissed, “You killed my cat, and now I’ll wring your –”

“She’s not dead, Argus.” Dumbledore spoke quietly for the first time since Mrs. Norris was discovered.

Both Snape and Filch turned to Dumbledore in disbelief.

“But, sir.” Snape’s voice, though still far from animated, had an indescribable emotion in it, “What better explanation can there be other than Potter and his friends having something to do with this?” Azula didn’t miss how she was excluded from the blame, probably due to one of two things – her status as a Slytherin, or Snape’s intense hatred for Harry, “Surely, some punishment is in –”

Dumbledore’s blue eyes flashed, and Snape fell silent, gritting his teeth. He gave a small smile, as if he knew something that Snape didn’t.

“Innocent until proven guilty, Severus.” He murmured, turning to Azula. Similar to the icy feeling she experienced during her dream, Azula got the distinct feeling that he was staring right through her.

A sudden flash of memories came to mind. The first time she firebended. Meeting Mai and Ty Lee. Beating Zuko in their faux Agni Kais. Her father’s proud smile as she flawlessly executed firebending techniques for her late grandfather, for who she was named, Azulon.

_The first time her father hit her_.

At the last memory, she focused intently on ridding herself of the memories. She didn’t want to risk being vulnerable in present company. Dumbledore seemed a bit surprised, before he masked it with a frown.

“It appears as if the _Chamber_ has been opened once again, Severus.” He sighed, and Azula was instantly brought back to the dream she had.

_The female figure hissing. The large creature petrifying_.

She deemed it better to say nothing, though. The last thing she wanted was for the only adult figures at Hogwarts to think she was losing her mind. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stared at the headmaster with muted horror, and Filch was cradling his still immobile cat, refusing to look down at her.

“What _chamber_ , sir?” Hermione asked gingerly.

It was then that Dumbledore seemed to recall that he was in the presence of students.

“Gilderoy, please see to it that these students make it safely to their common rooms.” He requested.

Lockheart shook his head fervently, and Azula swore that she saw a glimmer of fear in his eyes, beyond his guise of bravery.

“I’m sure that these students are strong enough to escort themselves, Albus.” Lockheart puffed his chest out proudly, “I’ve taught them everything they need to know.”

Why Dumbledore agreed with Lockheart, Azula would never know, but before she knew it, she was walking in the halls with the Golden Trio. Harry was staring at her strangely – she could see it from her peripheral – and she whirled around to address him.

“Is there something you’d like to say?” Azula demanded.

Harry stopped walking, probably to say something back to her, but when he made eye contact with her, he gasped out in pain. He fell to the floor, clutching his scar fiercely as he struggled to stay upright. Hermione and Ron were immediately at his side, helping him back on his feet.

“What did you do to him, Ryland?” Ron asked hotly, the red in his cheeks denoting his anger.

Azula rolled her eyes. She didn’t have time to deal with this.

“Don’t know what you mean.” She walked around them, ignoring Hermione’s questioning gaze, “Now if you’ll excuse me – not that you have a choice – I have an Astronomy class to get to.”

With that, Azula left the three Gryffindors staring after her. Away from their scrutinizing looks, she had to face a sudden realization.

_She had no idea what was going on either_.

* * *

Later that night, settled into her four-poster bed, about a million thoughts raced through Azula’s head. She still hadn’t come up with a reason as to why making eye-contact with Harry would irritate his scar. She didn’t know why the dream with Mrs. Norris was so accurate, or even who the strange hissing figure in her dream was.

Reaching for her journal for the second time today, she penned a quick message.

_My dream came true today. Why?_

The journal’s response was almost instantaneous.

_You asked for me to show you my power, and I did. What in that don’t you understand?_

_If I had known it would be something as trivial as having futuristic dreams, I never would’ve bothered writing in you._

_Admit it. You’re frightened because you don’t have a clue of what’s going on._

The frown already on Azula’s face grew more severe. She wasn’t afraid of anything, not that the beating organ in her chest would listen to her. There were only two things in this world that gave her pause – disappointing her father and becoming a failure – and none of them had to do with some stupid journal.

_Forget the deal. I want out of it._

Azula swore she heard a man’s chuckles, but when she focused on the sound, it disappeared. The journal vibrated, and the lone sentence it displayed made Azula want to throw it across the room in frustration.

_Too late_.

Snapping the journal closed, Azula shoved it back under her pillow, banging against it with her fist before laying her head down on it. Sleep evaded her for a while, but when it finally came, it was preceded by familiar male voice telling her one thing:

_I told you so_.


	19. Potions and Helpful Bludgers

Things seemed to calm down a bit after Mrs. Norris had been found petrified on the second floor. In Draco’s mind, the only thing that was strange was the fact that Azula had been quieter since the incident. Not _Longbottom_ quiet, but quiet enough that he noticed something was off with her. Every time he broached the subject of hew new behavior with her, the Slytherin royal would snap at him, and out of respect for their friendship, Draco left her be.

He figured that he’d give her some space, and it was for this reason that he found himself waiting after _Defense_ class for Lockheart’s attention. The most recent lesson had to do with repelling werewolves, by _howling_ of all things. While it was amusing to watch Potter howl – though Draco wished it were in despair instead of for educational purposes – he genuinely didn’t know how howling could deter a bloodthirsty beast if it were feeling truly ravenous.

He lingered near the back of the classroom, watching as Azula left in a hurry, clutching a little black book in her hands. Draco was 99% certain that it was the book his father had in his possession during the summer, but the 1% of uncertainty came from the fact that it wasn’t uncommon for pre-teen girls to keep diaries or journals.

_Azula_ was a pre-teen girl, Draco remembered, but she had never quite fit the stereotypical mold for him. She wasn’t as dramatic as the rest, but he supposed that even _she_ needed to write down her feelings at times. So, while he was mostly convinced that the journal belonged to his father, he wouldn’t press the issue unless she came to him first.

At least, he would _try_ not to.

As he placed his books into his bag, lingering, he noticed that Potter and his friends had stayed behind as well. He was far enough from them that they didn’t notice he was still there, but close enough that he could hear snippets of their conversation.

“…need your permission to take a book out of the restricted section.” Granger was saying, and even from Draco’s place at the back of the room, he could tell that she was laying on the charm thickly, appealing to Lockheart’s large ego, “It would really help us with…er... _understanding_ your book…”

Draco didn’t hear the name of the book, but judging by the excited gasp Lockheart let out, the unwitting _DADA_ professor was flattered nonetheless. He quickly scribbled a note, handing it to Granger before waving the Golden Trio out of the room.

Pursing his lips, Draco pasted an awe-struck grin on his face as he sauntered over to Lockheart.

“Professor,” Draco began earnestly, clasping his hands in front of him innocently, “I simply _adored_ your lecture today about how to _bravely_ face a werewolf.”

Lockheart puffed his chest out proudly, and he knew that he had the older man in the palm of his hands.

“I hadn’t realized you were such a fan, Mr. Malfoy.” Lockheart beamed, his eyes shining with pride, “Is there anything else I can do to make your learning experience _exceptional_?”

Draco hid his smug look behind a cough, looking up to face his unintelligent professor.

_This was too easy_.

“Now that you mention it, there is.” Draco murmured calmly, “I was reading ahead in your _Gadding with Ghouls_ book –”

“Ah, yes. _Gadding with Ghouls_.” Lockheart nodded fervently, “Some of my most extraordinary accomplishments are recorded in –”

“That’s wonderful, professor.” Draco waved him off impatiently, “But I was wondering if you could tell me what book Granger’s going to use to help her understand it more.”

Lockheart was silent for a moment, and Draco felt unease rise in his stomach. He didn’t want to believe that the older man was foolish enough to sign a book out of the restricted section without knowing exactly _which_ book he was signing out. He couldn’t be _that_ daft.

The sheepish look on Lockheart’s face told him otherwise, and Draco had to refrain from letting out a frustrated groan.

“You know, I don’t exactly recall the name of the book.” Lockheart scratched the back of his neck, “Of course, I have so many things to remember that it’s possible that some things may have slipped my –”

“But _professor_.” Draco stressed, “Think of the greater good. Would you want it to get out that you couldn’t help a measly second-year for the greater good?”

At the mere thought of his reputation being diminished, the blood drained from Lockheart’s face. The professor’s eyes darted rapidly between Draco and a fixed place somewhere behind him, and he seemed to be lost in thought.

“Truly I don’t remember.” Lockheart’s voice had quietened, “But I _do_ recall it having something to do with potions.”

Draco took a second to ponder Lockheart’s words. A book on _potions_? The obvious answer would be to ask his godfather, Professor Snape, if he knew of such a book, but he recalled that the stern man was a Legillimens.

In other words, he’d figure out Draco’s ruse in a second. Lying would be of no use to him.

Granted, if Snape saw Draco’s intentions, it would lead him straight to Potter and his friends. While it _would_ be nice to see the Gryffindor trio get in trouble, he wasn’t willing to go down with them. Hence, he settled for the more tedious route of teasing an answer out of Lockheart.

“Do you know of any potions books that would be dangerous for inexperienced individuals?” Draco asked, “Like those who _haven’t_ had you as their professor, of course.”

At hearing the non-subtle praise, Lockheart’s confidence returned.

“I couldn’t tell you the exact book,” Lockheart murmured, “but I _do_ recall having to use a bit of polyjuice potion during my encounter with a yeti. Though, that adventure is covered in my book –”

“ _Year with the Yeti_ , I know.” This time, Draco was unable to stop his eyeroll, “…thanks for your time, professor.”

Without waiting for Lockheart’s response, Draco left the _Defense_ classroom. He didn’t know how he was going to find out what Potter and his goons were up to this time, but he wouldn’t rest until he found out.

* * *

“That’s simple.” Azula shook her head, amused by Draco’s lack of knowledge, “ _Most Potente Potions_.”

Azula refrained from sighing as Draco only stared at her in confusion. They were on their way to the quidditch pitch for the first game of the season – _Slytherin versus Gryffindor_ – when Draco had decided to ask her the most obvious question about potions.

“How could you possibly know that?” Draco was confounded.

“Did you really think I was going to start my second year without at least reading ahead in some of my classes? Azula smirked, tutting her disapproval, “And to think I thought you actually knew me.”

At this, Draco regained his composure, his usual haughty appearance returning to him. He didn’t say anything, though Azula could see the conflict brewing in his dark gray eyes. She raised a brow, but her expression did nothing to coax whatever information he was withholding from her to the surface.

“Why do you want to know anyway?” Azula prompted, “It’s not even like you really _care_ about potions.”

Draco glanced at her, his eyes dancing with the glee of whatever he wasn’t telling her. _Fine_. If he wanted to be like that, two could play at that game.

“Don’t tell me, then.” Azula sniffed, keeping her gaze straight in front of her as they continued walking, “But if you think you can do… _whatever this is_ without my help, you’re sorely mistaken.”

She didn’t have to be looking at the blond to know that he was grinning.

“Does this mean you’re offering to help me?” Draco mused, “Why, Azula, I’m _touched_.”

The idea of her being nice to anyone _just because_ unnerved her, but if she had to appeal to her more delicate sensibilities to extract information from him… _nope_. She still wouldn’t do it.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Draco.”

“Fine, I’ll tell you.” Draco paused, walking closer to her, his tone now hushed, “If you tell me what the deal with your journal is.”

Azula felt a surge of indignance at being questioned well within her chest. Their friendship wasn’t meant to be reciprocal. He was supposed to give her the information she desired – whenever she wanted it and without question – and _she_ , in return, would benevolently allow him to call her a friend. Maybe occasionally ask her for advice and get her to listen to his problems, but it wasn’t a quid pro quo type of relationship.

At least, not in Azula’s book.

“I’m not bargaining with you, Draco.” Azula declared firmly, leveling her classmate with a sharp glare, “It’s either you tell me of your own volition or not, but you don’t get to question the things I do.”

Azula had expected him to drop the matter, as he usually did, but this time, her glare was returned.

“We’re supposed to be _Slytherins_ , in case you’ve forgotten.” Draco said darkly, stopping abruptly to make his point. Once he was sure he had Azula’s attention, he continued, “We’re supposed to look after our own. If you can’t confide _anything_ in me, why should I do the same for you?”

Not waiting for Azula to respond, Draco stormed off, quidditch robes billowing behind him dramatically. For a moment, she was rendered frozen. No one had _ever_ dared to speak to her in such a manner. Not Mai, not Ty Lee, and not even Zuko. A part of her demanded that she go after Draco and set him on fire for daring to speak to her that way. The other part of her felt something heavy settle in her chest.

What was that foreign sensation? _Anger? Bitterness?_

Or was it something she hadn’t felt since she was a child… _guilt?_

She hated admitting when anything bothered her, and she refused to let this spat between her and Draco get the best of her. It wasn’t worth it – at least, that’s what she told herself. Who needed Draco anyways? Sure, he was good for conversation, and he could actually be quite intelligent when he wasn’t busy snarking off to Potter, and… _no_. she wasn’t going to occupy her mind with silly arguments.

Ignoring her sudden feeling of desolation, Azula marched towards the quidditch field, determined not to let _anyone_ affect her mood, despite the nagging voice in the back of her head telling her that she was already affected.

* * *

The first thing that Zuko Ryland noticed after Oliver Wood – the Gryffindor quidditch captain – and Marcus Flint – the Slytherin quidditch captain – shook hands was that his sister was in a sour mood. Her posture was stiff, and though he was by no means close to his sister, he couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit of concern – mostly for himself, if he were being honest.

Growing up with Azula had taught Zuko three important things:

  1. Azula always lies.
  2. When Azula was upset, _Zuko_ would be on the receiving end of her frustration.
  3. An angry Azula was hard to control.



He didn’t want to admit that he was nervous, but when he remembered that his sister was a _beater_ of all positions, he became very wary.

The second thing he noticed was how far Azula and Malfoy were standing from one another. A second glance at Malfoy told Zuko that the blond was equally as upset as his sister. The blond Slytherin didn’t really intimidate Zuko, but he couldn’t help but wonder what had happened between he and his sister.

“Zuko!” Fred Weasley’s voice cut into his reveries, “Get your head out of the clouds, mate. The game’s about to start.”

Zuko shook his head to get himself to focus. Now was no time to worry about Azula.

He had a match to play.

* * *

As one of Slytherin’s chasers, it was Draco’s job to get the quaffle past Gryffindor’s keeper – Oliver Wood. Most of the Gryffindor quidditch team’s focus was on keeping a rogue bludger from decapitating Harry Potter. Draco didn’t know why the bludger was acting so strangely, but who was he to question his good luck?

Potter was too boisterous to accept any help, insisting that he could handle the bludger all by himself. Even when the darned thing smashed into his right arm, Potter still had to attempt to be the victor. Holding the quaffle tightly in his hands, Draco narrowly avoided being struck by a bludger, hit by George Weasley.

As he got closer to the goal posts, he realized he had to make a decision: _Wood or Ryland_? Zuko was playing as one of the Gryffindor chasers, trying avidly to gain possession of the quaffle, but Wood was proving to be a strong defensive player. A flash of gold caught his attention, and he unintentionally slowed his pace. The golden snitch had just passed him and based on the mix of green and silver that rushed past him, the reluctant Slytherin seeker – Malia di Angelo – had seen it.

A rough shove to the side brought his attention back to Zuko, who had tried to use physical force to get him to relinquish his hold on the quaffle. Gritting his teeth, Draco refocused on the task at hand. Time seemed to be going achingly slow for him as he neared the goal posts, rearing his arm back before throwing the quaffle. For a moment, it seemed as if Wood was going to deflect it – leg poised perfectly to strike – when a loud _crack_ sounded throughout the field. Wood’s attention was completely taken by the source of the sound, allowing the quaffle to soar right past him and into the goal.

_70 – 0,_ in favor of Slytherin.

It seemed, to Draco, as if Wood hadn’t even cared about his failed attempt to block the quaffle, as he immediately began flying down towards Madam Hooch.

“Foul!” Wood was yelling, “Foul! She tried to _murder_ my seeker!”

Draco, seeing Flint fly down, descended as well, trying to see what the spectacle was about this time. Potter was curled into a ball on the ground, face screwed up in intense pain, yet, his arms were bent at a strange angle. It wasn’t possible that Potter had managed to get _both_ of his arms broken in one game?

Was it?

“I didn’t try to murder anyone.” Azula retorted, having flown down to the ground as well. By now, the crowd in the stands was unintelligible, their screams blending together in a nonsensical blur, “I’m a _beater_. It’s my job to knock bludgers at my opponents. I can’t help my skill.”

Despite still being mad at her, Draco snorted in amusement, the corners of his lips lifting in a reluctant smile. Leave it to Azula to try and knock Potter out of the sky. So caught up in the quidditch game, Draco hadn’t even realized that it had begun to rain. His robes were now clinging to him, but the adrenaline of the match prevented him from truly feeling the rain’s effects.

“I suppose we’ll have to call this one a draw.” Madam Hooch mused aloud.

The groans of the Slytherin team were deafening, and Draco didn’t miss the looks of relief that passed over the faces of the Gryffindor team.

“Actually.” Came a dry voice, “That won’t be necessary.”

Draco turned to face the sound of the voice, meeting the dark gaze of none other than Malia di Angelo herself. Soaked and sneering, she was the picture of misery. She raised her left hand, water dripping from her sleeve, clutching an object tightly. His heart dropped. It couldn’t be…but it _was_.

_Malia had caught the snitch._

This time, it was the Gryffindor team that groaned, the chatters of the crowd – waiting to hear Madam Hooch’s official verdict – continuing. Draco could hear Flint’s whoops as he ran towards Malia, lifting the 7th year Slytherin girl off the ground in his excitement.

“I knew you wouldn’t let us down.” Flint grinned as he put her back on the ground, stealing a kiss from her, “Our children have quite the legacy to work towards.”

Malia visibly gagged, shoving Flint away from her as she rubbed her mouth furiously. The rest of the Slytherin team said nothing, though Draco noticed that Zuko Ryland seemed a bit sympathetic. The two of them made eye contact, and the elder Slytherin shook her head almost imperceptibly.

Rather than dwell on the things he didn’t understand, Draco looked at Azula once more, only to find his classmate staring right back at him. Caught, Azula crossed her arms and faced away from him. Annoyance caused Draco to purse his lips, turning away from her in return.

He would be just fine without her.

* * *

_Most Potente Potions_.

Hours later, Azula couldn’t help but wonder what Draco had overheard that made him want to get ahold of the book. Knowing the blond, it probably had something to do with Harry and his friends. Draco had an odd obsession with them, one that Azula had never quite understood, but the point still remained that if Draco was suspicious of them, there _had_ to be a good reason.

After all, they always managed to find themselves in some sort of trouble.

Her journal vibrated from underneath her pillow, and for a second, she was tempted to ignore it. She wasn’t in the mood to argue with anyone else for the day, but when the vibrating became persistent, she huffed. Reaching under her pillow as she had many times before, she retrieved the journal, opening it to the most recent page with writing.

_I sense you’re feeling upset. What’s wrong?_

Azula snorted. She wasn’t about to let an inanimate object act as her therapist. So caught up in her indignation, she didn’t question how the journal was able to accurately gauge her emotions without any words on her part.

_Why do you care?_

_I don’t_ (Azula appreciated the journal’s honesty) _. I just wanted to know what managed to perturb you. Has anything strange happened at your school since the incident with the cat?_

Azula’s eyes narrowed at how interested the journal was in her school life.

_Nothing else has happened. Your stupid dreams didn’t even last long. Some power you have._

The journal had nothing to say for a long time, and Azula’s patience grew thin. She ought to be studying for the next _Defense_ exam, as her grade was surely negatively impacted by her unwillingness to _howl_ during her last class. She moved to close the book, but it gave one last rumble. Pinching the bridge of her nose, Azula glanced at what the journal had decided to write this time.

_We’ll see how long you have that opinion_.

Azula didn’t bother writing a response to that, shoving the journal back under her pillow. She leaned against her headboard, contemplating her options. She didn’t know whether or not to take the journal’s words as a threat or promise, and neither possibility pleased her. She _could_ always let Draco know what was going on, but her pride would never let her admit to wanting help, especially after the way she dismissed him earlier that day.

Sighing, she closed her eyes, trying to rid herself of unpleasant thoughts. She _didn’t_ apologize. Apologizing would mean that she had done something wrong, and she was _never_ wrong.

As sleep evaded her, however, she had a hard time of convincing herself of that fact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback always welcomed. :D


	20. Intervention

Azula had figured that after the dream about Mrs. Norris, she was done with the strange occurrences in her life. She still occasionally wrote things down in her journal, but it was nowhere near the amount she used to write. The correspondences between her and the journal were few and far in between. In the meantime, she was still giving Draco the silent treatment – which was heartily reciprocated by the blond Slytherin – but even _she_ had to admit that she _kind of_ missed his companionship.

She vividly recalled the day when Colin Creevey – a Gryffindor muggleborn who idolized Harry – was petrified, but it wasn’t until Emilie Lacroix had been petrified that she began to realize a pattern.

 _Just as Azula’s previous prophetic dreams had been shrouded in darkness, this one was no different. This time, however, her dream began near what seemed to be the Slytherin dungeons. From what she could see, there were two female figures present, and she noted that the hissing girl from her last two dreams was nowhere to be found. She couldn’t hear their conversation, but she_ **_was_ ** _able to make out who they were – Emilie Lacroix and Malia di Angelo, Blaise’s often stern-looking older cousin. With how prejudiced Slytherins typically were against other houses, it surprised Azula greatly that the Italian Slytherin was entertaining her company._

_As the girls reached the dungeons, Emilie took one of Malia’s hands in her own, caressing the skin gently as she murmured something quietly to her. Malia was shaking her head, and Azula desperately wished that she could hear what they were saying. The scene was cinematic as Malia nodded her head, leaning forward to place a tender kiss onto Emilie’s lips. Azula looked away in disgust._

_Kissing was still gross to her, no matter who did it. She didn’t necessarily believe in cooties, but she just didn’t see the appeal of kissing. It dawned on her that the rumors surrounding Malia’s relationship with a Hufflepuff girl were true._

_Azula wondered briefly if Blaise knew, or, more interestingly, if Flint – her fiancé – knew._

_By the time she looked back at the scene, Malia had retreated into the Slytherin dungeons, leaving Emilie to head back to wherever the Hufflepuffs slept – Azula hadn’t bothered to compartmentalize that knowledge. She watched as the Hufflepuff girl continued her trek, her lips moving in a manner so as to suggest that she was whistling quietly to herself._

_Azula didn’t pay attention to the path that the Hufflepuff girl was going in. She didn’t care to know where the Hufflepuff dormitories were, but what caught her interest was when Emilie stopped suddenly. Squinting her eyes against the darkness, she realized that the Hufflepuff was talking to another girl. This girl, slight in frame, was difficult to see in the dim light, and the fact that she was wearing a hood didn’t help at all. Judging from Emilie’s exaggerated hand gestures, Azula figured that the hooded girl was out past curfew, and because she was Hufflepuff’s prefect, it was her duty to settle the matter._

_The girl didn’t seem to respond, opening her mouth with no sound emerging. Then suddenly – whether the noise was coming from Azula’s imagination or the scene she bore witness to was up for debate – the strange hissing noise from her previous dreams made itself known. A grip of inexplicable panic seized Azula, for she knew exactly what was going to happen._

_She desperately tried to wake herself up, slapping herself in the face for good measure. It did her no good. Whatever nightmare sequence she was currently experiencing not only rendered her firebending useless – it made her unfeeling as well!_

_She was forced to watch, unable to do anything, as some sort of creature emerged from the shadows. She grew tired of it changing its appearance, if she were being honest. The first time she was exposed to it – when Mrs. Norris was petrified – it had been a monster-like creature, looking as if could be something from the horror stories Lu Ten used to tell her and Zuko as children. When Colin Creevey had been petrified, the monster-like creature favored a mongoose-lion, which – if Azula were being honest – didn’t scare her much. Growing up in the Fire Nation, she was used to all sorts of exotic animals, mongoose-lions being her most frequent companions aside from fire hawks. This time, however, the creature was neither a monster nor a mongoose-lion._

_No, this time, it was a serpent._

_As a Slytherin, snakes didn’t frighten Azula. If they did, she’d be an absolute disgrace to her Hogwarts house. Still, her lack of fear for snakes did nothing to quench the cold feeling that had settled in her chest as she watched Emilie Lacroix transform from a living, breathing girl to an inanimate statue. She fell gracelessly to the ground, and the thud that resounded – either in the halls or as a result of Azula’s imagination – startled her._

_Having been used to these dreams by now, Azula already knew how this one would end. The girl would escort the petrifying creature back to its chambers and be on her merry way, walking casually back to the Slytherin dungeons. She watched as the girl was seemingly chastised by a portrait – though Azula had never quite made an effort to retain its name – before she was ultimately let into the Slytherin common room. The whole dream was predictable – student gets petrified and hissing girl goes to Slytherin common room. It was all easy to understand,_ **_too_ ** _easy – in fact, because despite the predictability, Azula didn’t understand one thing after witnessing Emilie’s petrification._

Why did she suddenly wake up – donned in school robes – on a couch in the Slytherin common room when she surely fell asleep in her own bed earlier that night?

* * *

Draco was hardly in the mood to speak to anyone. Crabbe and Goyle remained idiots – loyal to him, but idiots none the same – and he and Azula were still not on speaking terms. He refused to relent, though. If they were going to become friends again, _she’d_ have to make the first step. He’d only been trying to help her and instead, she tried to make him into a subordinate – a person of _convenience_ for her.

He ignored the part of his mind that told him that he had been trying to do the same thing with her at first.

Letting out a deep sigh, Draco scribbled hastily on a piece of parchment, writing down notes for his DADA class. He hadn’t been lying when he told Lockheart that he needed all the help he could get. The man was an _abysmal_ teacher, and Draco had taken it upon himself to go to the library and gather as many books related to defensive and offensive spells as possible. Granted, he could’ve asked his mother to send him some books from the Malfoy family library, but he didn’t want to give her reason to worry.

How _Hufflepuff_ of him.

Pushing the thought aside, he looked down at the latest spell he’d written down.

_Serpensortia – spell that summons snakes_

He didn’t know when he’d ever used that one in a duel, but he figured it would be fun to scare Astoria with some day. His younger friend was terrified of snakes, and he kept that information in mind for the next time she decided to annoy him. A shadow came over his notes, and he knew without looking that he’d brought this upon himself.

“Never thought I’d find _you_ of all people _studying_.” Astoria said cheekily, sitting down next to him on the grass, “And near the Great Lake no less. Aren’t you afraid of the cold? We’re in _November_ , Draco.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“Don’t you have your sister to go bother?” he sneered halfheartedly.

Astoria shrugged, resting her head on his shoulder, the new weight on his shoulder prompting him to wrap an arm around her.

“She’s off making goo-goo eyes at Blaise.” Astoria snorted, “So naturally, I came to find my best friend in the _whole_ world and spend quality time with him.”

“If you wanted to spend time with me, you wouldn’t have trekked all the way out here to find me. You _hate_ the cold.” Draco murmured, allowing his eyes to drift back to his notes, “What’s the real reason?”

Astoria was quiet for a moment, staring straight ahead of her without saying a word. After a few moments of her silence, she sat up, pivoting her body so that she was directly facing him.

“You know that I’ll always be on your side – no matter what – right?”

Astoria’s hazel eyes were bright, an earnest quality to them that spoke volumes to Draco. He nodded. Despite occasionally arguing with her, she was the closest thing to a best friend – scratch that, she _was_ his best friend – that he’d ever had.

“Would you mind telling me exactly what happened between you and Azula?”

Draco’s eyebrows raised. He supposed he shouldn’t have been so surprised that Astoria picked up on the tension between him and the Firinian royal. He’d done his best to be cordial – he didn’t insult her like he would Potter, and he still showed her due respect. The only difference was that the two of them were no longer as close as they used to be.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you that I didn’t know what you meant, would you?” Draco gave her a crooked smile.

The “no-nonsense” glare Astoria gave him in return was all the answer he needed.

“She hasn’t been herself lately.” Astoria sighed, leaning back against the bark of a nearby tree, “And before you ask me, _yes_ , I’m friends with her too.”

In truth, Draco hadn’t been about to ask whether or not she was friends with Azula, but he deemed it best not to interrupt her with a pointless defense. Instead, he asked her a simple question.

“What do you _mean_ she hasn’t been herself?”

“She’s been coming back to the common room really late these past few weeks.” Astoria explained quietly, as if she were trying to prevent unwanted intruders from eavesdropping, though no one else was around, “I’ve been… _awake_ waiting for her to get back, but when she does, it’s like she’s… _out of it_.”

“Out of it?” Draco echoed.

“Almost like she’s sleep-walking.” Astoria clarified, “I’ll call her name, but she never responds. I don’t know if she’s been possessed –”

Draco, unable to stop himself, snorted, prompting Astoria to level him with an unamused glare. She flicked him over the head and it was his turn to glare at her, rubbing his head to soothe the irritation.

“ _What_ was that –”

“You’re not taking me seriously.” Astoria hissed fervently, leaning closer to him, “She’s coming in at bloody weird hours of the night, clutching some _stupid_ journal like it’s her lifeline and –”

Draco raised a hand to silence her, a gesture that Astoria didn’t appreciate, yet complied with. His thoughts racing, he realized that all roads led back to that Merlin-forsaken journal. Granted, Azula had always been a bit secretive, but that level of secrecy had only intensified once the journal had entered her possession.

“A _journal_ , you say?” Draco himself wasn’t sure whether or not he meant it as a rhetorical question, but persisted, “What kind of journal?”

Astoria stared at him strangely but answered him nonetheless.

“Small, black, _journal-like_.” Astoria frowned, “How do you expect me to describe –”

“I know what you’re talking about.” Draco cut her off, biting down on his bottom lip in nervousness, “It was my father’s.”

Despite gaining more information, Astoria was not put at ease. If possible, she seemed more unnerved than she did before. For as long as Draco could remember, Astoria had never taken a liking to his father, always choosing to be closer to his mother. At first, he had assumed that it was merely a gender thing – often times, girls were closer to others of their same gender, after all – but as the years progressed, Astoria had never warmed up to his father.

Remembering how harsh his father could be, if he were being honest, Draco couldn’t blame her for her distrust.

“It’s probably cursed.” Of all the things that could’ve come out of Astoria’s mouth, Draco wasn’t expecting it to be that. His expression must’ve belied his shock, as Astoria didn’t give him a chance to respond, “Think about it. Your father was on Voldemort’s –”

“Don’t say his name!” Draco all but hissed, but his abruptness wasn’t enough to deter the younger Slytherin from making her point.

“– side during the first war.” Astoria continued, pretending that Draco had never spoken, “If he somehow managed to slip a journal into Azula’s possession, and now she’s acting strangely –”

“My father wouldn’t purposely give Azula a dark artifact.” Even as Draco uttered the words, he couldn’t muster the strength to believe in them. He knew what his father was capable of when holding a grudge, and if the elder Malfoy’s dislike for Azula’s father was anything to be noted, Draco knew his father wasn’t above taking his indignance out on Azula.

Astoria gave him a hard look, jaw locked. She appeared to be trying to figure out how best to word whatever she was going to say next. With a heavy sigh, she crossed her arms over her chest, something she only did when she was getting exasperated.

“Draco, your father _hates_ Azula.” Astoria deadpanned, and Draco hated to admit it, but she was right, “If you can look me in the eye right now and tell me that your father doesn’t bear any ill will against her, I’ll drop the whole thing and give him a hug the next time I see him.”

The mental image of Astoria clinging to his father was an amusing one, but Draco didn’t dare laugh. He tried to come up with a reason to defend his father, but he knew – deep down – he wouldn’t be able to find one. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Draco released a steady exhale.

“And what do you suppose we do about it?” Draco decided to humor her, “If Azula _is_ possessed in some way, she already made it clear that she didn’t want my help.”

The look on Astoria’s face told him that the answer should’ve been obvious to him.

“We’re her friends, whether she wants to be stubborn or not.” Astoria declared, shifting so both of her hands were resting on his shoulders, a look of intense concentration on her face, “Right now, you have a class to get to, but we’ll meet tonight. In the common room. Be there after dinner.”

Without giving him a chance to respond, Astoria stood up, brushing her skirt off before walking back to the castle – leaving Draco to stare after her. As much as he wanted to prolong not speaking to Azula, he knew that it wasn’t the right thing to do.

He would confront her _today_.

* * *

In all honesty, Draco _did_ want to talk to Azula before dinner, preferably after their transfiguration class with McGonagall, but of course, something got in the way.

By the time he had finally found her, she wasn’t alone. There was a large crowd surrounding her, with some people speaking in hushed whispers and others speaking in loud, boisterous voices. As he made his way to the front of the human blockade, some of the conversations reached his ears, though he was unable to place names to the voices.

“– was such a sweet girl.”

“Who would do this to her?”

“– cursed school –”

“Muggleborns everywhere –”

Once he had finally reached the front, he noticed two things:

  1. Azula was frozen in front of the statue of a girl, face glazed over in horror.
  2. That “statue” was no statue – it was a _student_.



Emilie Lacroix of Hufflepuff, to be specific. The mudblood seventh year was curled on her side, unmoving. Just as Mrs. Norris and Colin Creevey before her, she was a victim of petrification. It dawned to Draco the verity of the message from the time when Mrs. Norris was petrified:

 _The chamber of secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir, beware_.

The more Draco thought about it, the more he realized the power of this unmatched force. This heir of Slytherin was on a mission to eradicate all mudbloods from Hogwarts – Colin Creevey and Emilie Lacroix were only the beginning – and anyone who got in his way – Mrs. Norris – wouldn’t be spared.

He turned to face Azula, preparing himself to talk to her for the first time in a month. As usual, she beat him to it.

“We need to talk later.” She murmured solemnly, and Draco could hardly believe his luck. He didn’t know what she wanted to talk about, but was hopeful that their discussion wouldn’t end in another argument.

“Astoria’s going to be there.” Draco informed her, and Azula nodded her agreeance. He hadn’t expected her to be so agreeable, but the muted shock in her eyes told him that there was something grave bothering her.

“Alright everyone.” Malia di Angelo’s voice could be heard loudly among the chatter as she pushed her way towards the front of the crowd, “Back to your dormitories. All of –”

Her words stopped once she had reached the front. Conflicting emotions raced across her eyes, and among them was _hurt_. Draco didn’t think her capable of hurt – especially with how cold she’d become in recent years – but he followed her gaze to the prone body of Emilie Lacroix. Looking back at Malia, the older Slytherin seemed to be on the verge of tears, pushing past him roughly in her rush to kneel beside the body.

“No,” She was whispering to herself, shaking her head in apparent disbelief, “Not you. Not you. _Not you_.”

There were now tears streaming down her cheeks, and to Draco, she looked positively heartbroken as she cradled the Hufflepuff’s body in her arms. The rumors had been true. Blaise’s cousin was indeed dating a mudblood, a _Hufflepuff_ at that. He looked around, to see if his Italian friend was anywhere to be found, but alas, he was missing in action.

So caught up in his search for Blaise, Draco didn’t notice when Marcus Flint had pushed his way through the crowd until he was gripping Malia by the forearms, dragging her off the ground.

“You’re disgracing us,” Flint growled as she thrashed about in his arms, “Let’s go, _now_.”

Malia, by this point, was incoherent – her crying making her words difficult to understand – and it was hard for Draco to watch. He still didn’t care for Hufflepuffs or mudbloods, but it was sad to see a Slytherin who he’d once considered a sister in so much pain. A hand on his shoulder drew Draco’s attention away from the debacle he was bearing witness to. Glancing up, he met the charcoal eyes of his godfather, Professor Snape.

“I’ll be taking it from here.” Snape said, and though his voice was quiet, it was enough to make the crowd disperse, “Mr. Malfoy, Ms. Ryland, please return to your dormitory.”

He traded a quick glance with Azula, who nodded and began to walk away from the scene. Though he followed her lead, he could still hear the conversations going on near the scene.

“Mr. Flint, please let go of Ms. di Angelo. And Ms. di Angelo, please do try to calm yourself. It is not the end of the world.”

“But professor –” Flint’s voice was rushed, but he soon fell quiet.

Draco didn’t look back, trying to ignore the heavy feeling that had suddenly washed over him.

* * *

Looking back, there were very few times in Azula’s life in which she was cornered. She recalled being a child and having both her mother and Uncle Iroh gang up on her, trying to convince her to treat _dear Zuzu_ better. She remembered Mai occasionally telling her that she could be nicer to Ty Lee, and she remembered Lu Ten telling her that it would be in her best interest not to anger her father.

What she _couldn’t_ recall was a time in her Hogwarts career in which people were so concerned about her that they decided to have a full-blown conversation about her _strange behavior_.

Just the thought of Draco and Astoria talking about her behind her back was enough to upset her, but it wasn’t until she heard what they wanted to talk to her about that her ire decreased significantly.

“You’ve been acting strange lately.” Leave it to Astoria to cut straight to the point. Draco frowned at her bluntness, but otherwise, didn’t react.

Azula remained stoic, hands crossed on her lap as she sat down on Draco’s bed with her two Slytherin classmates. She’d always found it interesting that boys were physically unable to enter the girls’ dormitories, but it was all too easy for girls to enter the boys’ dormitories. The irony of it amused her. Still, she focused on the task at hand.

“In what manner?” Azula asked calmly.

It must’ve been something about her tone that caused Draco’s cheeks to redden, but the blond didn’t let that stop him from getting his point across.

“Astoria said you’ve been coming back to the common room at odd hours, and you’re always clutching that _journal_ with you.” Draco spat out, glaring at said item, which Azula happened to be holding.

Reflexively, Azula brought it closer to her. She could admit that she and the journal weren’t on the best of terms, but it still came in handy for her whenever she needed to vent. Forget the power dynamic, that journal – through its banter and occasional lessons – was therapeutic.

“And what makes you think the journal is malignant?” Azula sniffed, subconsciously running a finger across its spine, “Am I supposed to believe that this journal is cursed?”

Astoria’s lips twitched, and Azula wasn’t sure if the younger girl was a second away from laughing or scowling.

“You don’t have to _believe_ anything.” Astoria sighed, “I’m telling you for a fact that your journal is bad news. It belonged to Draco’s father, and –”

Azula couldn’t help herself. An amused snort left her lips. Was she really supposed to believe that Draco’s father – _the spineless fool_ – was smart enough to outwit _and_ curse her…with a _book_ no less?

“We’re being serious.” Draco said firmly, and there was a hard glint in her eyes that sobered Azula’s amusement, “I did some research of my own, and I remember my mother talking about it over the summer. It was in my Aunt Bellatrix’s possession once, courtesy of the Dark Lord –”

“Voldemort.” Astoria cut in, ignoring Draco’s glare, “I’m not afraid to say a bloody name.”

“– The _Dark Lord_ ,” Draco continued, “And mother said it was enchanted by him personally. It works as a journal, you see. You can write in it and it’ll respond as if it were some sort of pen pal –”

“I fail to see the bad part of this.” Azula deadpanned. If what they were saying was true, and this journal belonged to a Dark Lord at some point in time, then shouldn’t she cherish it? Even by the name of the journal’s previous owner, Azula knew that he must’ve been a man of great power, and power would serve Azula well in the world her father strove to create.

Astoria groaned loudly, floppingly heavily onto the bed with a sigh. She had a hand pressed against her forehead in exasperation.

“For Merlin’s sake, woman, you could get possessed!” Azula expected Draco’s frustrated tone, but she hadn’t been expecting him to shake her by the shoulders. Lips pursed, she warmed her body temperature until Draco was forced to let go out of fear of burning himself.

Scowling darkly at her, Draco rubbed his reddened palms. He wasn’t, however, finished with what he had to say.

“You’re having inexplicable dreams, aren’t you?” Draco’s voice was suddenly calm, and Azula didn’t know what bothered her more – how he’d suddenly switched moods, or the fact that he was _right_ , “You’re never surprised with the petrification that’s been occurring, and it’s because you’re a part of them.”

At this, Azula’s unease disappeared, replaced completely by irritation.

“How _dare_ you,” Azula sneered, standing from the bed so she could glare properly at Draco, “It’s one thing for you to accuse my _journal_ of being a dark artifact belonging to some long-dead Dark Lord, but it’s another thing entirely for you to assume that I’m possessed because I’m having predictive dreams.”

Draco’s look of frustration never left his face, but Astoria’s face showed a different emotion. Not quite pity, but Azula couldn’t identify what exactly it was.

“Listen, you have to know by now that we only want the best for you.” Astoria said quietly, and Azula scrutinized her expression for any trace of deception.

 _There was none_.

Feeling a migraine coming on, Azula closed her and focused on breathing. This was too much for her to deal with, and to be honest, she felt that her life was a lot simpler when Astoria and Draco didn’t know about the journal. Opening her eyes, she exhaled slowly. She pursed her lips, readying herself to speak when an intense wave of pain slammed into her head. Cursing under her breath, Azula clutched at her head, curling herself into a ball on the bed. Never before had she felt such pain in her head.

Not even when her father would hit her, and that was saying a lot. When angry, he would never hold back, not even for his favorite child.

“Azula.” Azula, in her disoriented state, couldn’t tell who was addressing her as she forced her eyes open. Her vision was blurry, and the scenery began blending together. She felt like throwing up and crying all at once, and as blackness descended upon her, she heard an eerily familiar voice tell her, for the second time since her second year began:

 _I told you so_.

* * *

When Azula woke up some time later, she was no longer in Draco’s dormitory, but instead in the hospital wing. Curtains were drawn around her bed, and she suspected they were for privacy reasons. Blinking the blurriness out of her eyes, she attempted to reorient herself.

“You’re awake.” Astoria’s relieved voice was the first thing she heard, and she was immediately engulfed by the eager girl’s arms.

Azula, still a bit out of it, lied still on the bed. From her peripheral, she could see Draco standing next to her bed, hands shoved in the pockets of his robes.

“What happened to me?” Azula croaked out.

As Astoria let go of her, Azula could see the hazel-eyed Slytherin make brief eye-contact with Draco, neither of them saying anything. They seemed engaged in some sort of unspoken conflict before Draco finally sighed.

“You fainted.” Draco said hesitantly, and Azula watched as he gingerly levitated her journal into the air with a muffled _Wingardium Leviosa_ , “The journal turned bright red, and you just… _passed out_.”

Stretching her stiff muscles, Azula sat up in the bed. She didn’t want to believe that there was a correlation between her journal and the strange occurrences she was facing, but logically, she knew that there was no other explanation. Try as she might, she just couldn’t get herself to stop writing in it. Every time she swore she would stop, she found herself getting sucked back in.

To be honest, she was… _a little_ scared.

“What do you propose we do about this then?” Azula asked reluctantly. She didn’t want to believe that something that had been so therapeutic for her could be so detrimental to her wellbeing. She didn’t miss how Draco’s eyes lit up at the word “we.”

“For starters, we can figure out why Potter and company wanted that potions book.” Draco insisted, taking a seat on the bed next to her, “I got a glimpse of it, and it seemed like they were looking up how to make polyjuice potion, though I don’t know what for.”

Azula pondered Draco’s words, and for once, Astoria had nothing to say. Deciding to be rational, she made her decision.

“We’ll figure this out… _together_.” The last word felt too sappy for Azula’s liking, but it was the only word that felt fitting for the situation.

Seeing Astoria’s grin almost made her momentary softness worth it.

 _Almost_.

“Welcome back to the trio.” Astoria declared merrily, wrapping an arm around Azula’s shoulders, “We missed you.”

Azula raised a brow, her cynicism coming to the forefront. Draco turned away, but Azula didn’t miss the small smile on his face.

He _had_ missed her.

_She wouldn’t admit how much she’d missed them too._


	21. True Possession

“I say we burn it.” Draco had expected Astoria’s bluntness, but of all the ideas she could’ve suggested with regards to the journal, _burning_ it was the last thing he thought she would’ve suggested.

Before he could voice his opinion, Azula’s snort cut him off. As he turned to face the Firinian, he wasn’t surprised to see a mix of amusement and annoyance on her face. It appeared that the idea was just as unappealing to her as it was to him.

“ _Burn_ it?” Azula mimicked, “Why didn’t _I_ think of that?”

Astoria crossed her arms.

“ _Did you_?”

Azula gritted her teeth, but otherwise said nothing.

“I thought so.” Astoria grinned, “Now that that’s out of the way, burn it, Zula.”

Draco moved to comment on the nickname, but the deadly glare Azula gave him in return silenced him before he could even utter a sound. In hindsight, burning a journal – or _anything_ – for that matter in the middle of an abandoned classroom would be dangerous. The scent of the burning book would easily attract the attention of any passerby, and answering questions about their activities would be a pain.

“And risk being caught?” Azula was quick to voice her sentiments, ones that Draco agreed with, “No thank you. I’d rather not have Snape write to my father again. He almost killed me the last time, and I’d rather not have a repeat of that incident.”

There was something in Azula’s tone that struck Draco as odd. Had anyone else said the words she had just said, there would be some kind of joking tone attributed to it. Something to let others know that she wasn’t _really_ serious about her father almost murdering her. With Azula’s words, however, she seemed completely serious. Based on the first time he had met Fire Lord Ozai, Draco wouldn’t put it past the Firinian leader to attempt to maim his only reasonable child.

Not that he’d ever mention that thought to Azula, of course. They’d just gotten back on speaking terms, and he didn’t want them to have another pointless argument over something that technically wasn’t any of his business.

Astoria, on the other hand, looked as if she were about to call Azula out on her last words – if the troubled knit of her brows was anything to go by – so Draco decided to intervene.

“Where would we go then?” He prompted, “It’s not like we have some secret room to go to.”

At his words, Azula smirked, and pulled a piece of folded parchment from one of the pockets in her robes. Draco glanced at it, and he didn’t see what was so special about it. It was a blank piece of parchment for all he knew. Astoria took the paper from Azula, flipping it over in several angles before a frown came to her face.

“The Marauder’s Map?” Astoria questioned, not bothering to hide her shocked and impressed countenance, “How’d you swipe this?”

Draco blinked in confusion. For the millionth time in his life, he was out of the loop with his two friends. It seemed like the two of them were always a step ahead of him, waiting until they were secure enough in their knowledge before letting him into the fold.

“Zuzu is an idiot.” Azula shrugged, “If he’s even noticed it’s gone by now, it’s too late for him.”

“Wait a moment. Why do _you_ know what this is?” Draco was accusatory, pointing a finger at Astoria, who shrugged with a sheepish grin on her face. She batted her eyelashes at him in an effort to reduce his irritation, but as he only stared at her stonily, she sighed.

“Look.” Astoria said, “All you need to understand is that I’m a very charismatic person, and people can rarely resist me.”

Draco scrutinized her for a moment longer before rolling his eyes. He’d get the truth out of her eventually. He always did, so he decided that it didn’t make sense to dwell on the topic.

“I solemnly swear that I’m up to no good.” Astoria pointed her wand at the parchment.

Draco refrained from snorting. He didn’t need Astoria to reaffirm what he already knew about her.

When was she _ever_ up to any good?

He was just about to voice that thought when, out of nowhere, words started appearing on it. The first thing he noticed was the words “Marauder’s Map” scrawled along the top of the parchment, soon followed by what appeared to be a full map of Hogwarts. Azula, smirking at Draco’s awe, dragged her finger along the map, passing by several moving figures – Seamus Finnigan, Terry Boot, and Professor Sprout to name a few – before stopping at a spot on the seventh floor.

“You’re pointing to a literal wall, Azula.” Draco deadpanned.

Azula shook her head, clasping her hands together.

“Draco,” she murmured, “I present to you the _Room of Requirement_.”

* * *

The Room of Requirement was a haven of sorts for Azula, one which she didn’t take lightly. It was the only place in all of Hogwarts that she felt like she could have some sense of privacy. In the Slytherin common room, there were all sorts of distractions – from Marcus Flint trying to strike a conversation with Draco to Pansy Parkinson desperately clinging to the blond’s side. Granted, those occurrences were amusing to an extent, but there were times when she just wanted some peace and quiet.

The Room of Requirement provided that for her.

“What is this place?” Azula heard Astoria breathe out, her tone awestruck as she walked around the spacious room.

“As I just told the both of you, this is the Room of Requirement.” Azula snapped her fingers in front of the younger Slytherin’s face, “Pay attention.”

Astoria took no offense to the words, but then again, Azula hadn’t expected her to. Astoria Greengrass was the most laid-back person Azula had _ever_ met, even surpassing Ty Lee’s patience. No matter how many times Azula snapped at her, the hazel-eyed Slytherin took it in stride, verbally fighting back with sharp words of her own. If she were being honest, she respected her for it.

“How did you even get that map off of scar face?” Draco asked her, and Azula found great amusement in his demeaning nickname for her worthless brother. It was nice to have people in her life who saw Zuko as the weakling that he was instead of immediately flocking to his side, coddling him like an injured turtle duck, “I sincerely doubt the two of you have the kind of relationship where you can just borrow his things.”

Azula smiled sweetly, though her eyes burned with malicious pleasure.

“All I had to do was talk to him about _honor_ and he was as good as distracted.” Azula rolled her eyes, “ _Pathetic_.”

She glanced over to the fireplace at the far side of the room. It currently blazed orange, but with a slight lift of her hands, the flames flickered blue. She nodded to herself in satisfaction.

“So you say I should burn the book?” Azula redirected her attention to Astoria, who nodded, “Very well.”

She got off of the couch and walked over to the fireplace, holding the journal tightly in front of her. For a moment, she hesitated. She knew on a logical level that getting rid of the journal would only be to her benefit, but there was a little voice in her mind telling her not to carry on with it.

The voice wasn’t her own, and she supposed that was the deciding factor for her.

Tossing the book into the fire, she watched as the journal merely sat there, flames lapping everywhere else but the actual journal. She shrugged, walking away with the impression that the journal would eventually be destroyed. As she walked towards her companions, she was taken aback by the looks of horror on their faces. Draco raised a shaking finger to point at something behind her, but it was Astoria who spoke.

“A-Azula.” Her voice was shaky as she too pointed behind her. Her words failed her and she took a step back.

Turning around, the first thing Azula noticed was a plume of black smoke rising from the fireplace, the journal in midair throughout the entire ordeal. The mist came towards her, slowly at first but steadily advancing. Raising her wand, she cast the first spell she could think of.

“ _Protego_.” She cried.

She was certain that her form was perfect, and yet, the mist went straight through her protective barrier, careening straight into her chest. The force sent her back a few feet until she ended up on her knees, clutching her chest. There was a burning sensation, though she couldn’t locate where the phantom feeling was coming from. A voice made itself known in her ears, more of a reptile-like hiss than something humanoid.

_I can speak to snakes_.

Closing her eyes tightly, she gasped for breath. She found it harder and harder to breathe until suddenly, her airways were clear once more. She could feel arms wrapped protectively around her, and instinctively, she moved closer. She felt cold, and the first thing she did was make sure her firebending was still intact.

At the flame that rose obediently in her hand, she knew she had nothing to worry about in that department.

“Are you alright?” Astoria’s voice came from above her, and Azula realized that it was the younger Slytherin who was holding her.

Opening her eyes fully, Azula took a deep breath, stretching her shoulders as best she could while still in Astoria’s embrace. From a few feet away, she could see Draco gingerly holding what _should’ve_ been a burnt journal. Instead, the darned thing was still in perfect condition. Not even its pages had been blackened.

“I’m fine.” Azula replied, her tone hoarse as she moved out of Astoria’s arms, “What’s wrong, Draco?”

The blond Slytherin was frowning as he looked through the pages of the journal. Azula knew she should’ve felt indignant at the possibility of him finding personal conversations between her and the journal, but she got the distinct feeling that the possibility had just been made impossible.

“There’s…nothing in here.” Draco couldn’t have looked more shocked if he tried, “I thought you said you wrote in here.”

“I _did_.” Azula insisted as she snatched the journal from Draco’s hands, ignoring its heat.

She flipped through the pages swiftly, stunned to see that the pages once filled with lengthy conversations were now completely _empty_. Stuff like this didn’t happen in real life. This was absolutely ridiculous, and there _had_ to be an explanation for it. The more she searched the pages, the more she felt as if some unseen force was laughing at her, and in her frustration, she threw the journal into the fireplace across the room with all the accuracy of a quidditch chaser. Mockingly, the journal rose from the flames, moving until it rested at her feet once more.

“I can’t believe this.” Azula muttered. Things like this were supposed to _Zuko_ , not _her_.

“You don’t think that the mist…” Astoria hesitated with her words until Azula glared at her to continue, “actually possessed you, but _for real_ this time?”

“Don’t be stupid, Astoria.” Azula shook her head. The idea of her being possessed sounded like something out of the horror stories Lu Ten used to tell her before bed. Possession couldn’t happen in real life, magic or not.

She refused to acknowledge the possibility.

Draco, on the other hand, remained silent, prompting Azula to look at him. He looked contemplative, as if he were actually considering the possibility of what Astoria had said. She pushed at one of his shoulders.

“What do you think, Draco?” Azula asked him.

“I think,” Draco began quietly, “that we ought to change the subject.”

Astoria looked like she wanted to object, but a look from Draco silenced her. The longtime friends looked to be having a silent conversation, and Azula didn’t like to feel left out. She cleared her throat loudly – obnoxiously, to be honest – but it did the trick.

“Potter and his friends are up to something with polyjuice potion.” Draco said firmly, and just like that, all mentions of the journal and Azula’s “possession” were put to rest, “I’m sure of it.”

It wouldn’t surprise Azula if the Golden Trio _was_ , in fact, involved in some plot having to do with polyjuice potion. They always seemed to be getting themselves involved in some sort of trouble at Hogwarts.

“The question, then, if how we confirm this.” Azula tapped her chin in thought.

She could always exploit Harry’s offer of friendship. The Gryffindor “chosen one” would divulge his plans in little or no time, Azula was certain of it. The only flaw with that plan was that she’d have to spend time around the likes of Ronald Weasley. She didn’t _hate_ the boy, per se – her hatred was reserved for her uncle, brother, and mother, after all – but she knew his presence would get on her nerves very soon.

“I’ll find out.” Astoria murmured casually, taking a quick glance at the Marauder’s Map before taking it out of Azula’s lap. Her eyes had fixed on a point on the second floor, and as Azula stared at it longer, she realized that it was Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom she was staring at, “They’re in Myrtle’s bathroom. I’ll get the information now.”

Draco laughed outright at Astoria’s words, and the younger Slytherin slapped him in the back of his head. Her small act of violence brought a delighted smile to Azula’s face and the blond winced, rubbing the back of his head tenderly.

“How do you plan on doing that?” Draco asked her, eyes narrowed, “You’re a Slytherin, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Astoria smirked, and Azula thought that this was the first time since she’d met the younger girl that she seemed positively sinful.

She liked it.

“I’m a _Slytherin_ , Draco.” Astoria’s lips twitched – whether in amusement of something else, Azula didn’t know, “That’s all the explanation you need.”

Astoria walked a few steps away before stopping, looking nonchalantly over her shoulder at Azula and Draco.

“And besides,” Astoria grinned, “everyone loves me.”

* * *

Getting to the second floor from the seventh was no issue for Astoria Greengrass. She’d been outside of the common room many times after curfew, and as a result, was certain that she knew 75% of Hogwarts like she knew the back of her hand. With the Marauder’s Map, her journey was made even simpler.

The only problem she faced in getting to the second floor was red-haired with a prefect badge.

“What are you doing here?” Percy Weasley asked her stiffly, arms crossed over his chest in a manner that made him seem more constipated than authoritative.

Astoria raised an eyebrow at him, crossing her arms in return and discreetly placing the map in the inside of her robes. If Percy thought he could intimidate her with his prefect badge, he had another thing coming.

“I thought it was obvious.” She answered him innocently, cocking her head to the side for added effect.

If possible, the constipated look on Percy’s face worsened, and the sixth-year Gryffindor huffed, puffing his chest out. Astoria remained unfazed.

“As prefect,” Percy began stuffily, and it took all of Astoria’s self-control to stop herself from laughing at his tone of voice, “it is my duty to know the intentions of all students roaming the halls. Do you have a hall pass?”

“It’s my free period right now, Mr. Prefect.” Astoria mockingly saluted him, “Do you want me to go all the way to Snape to get him to write a pass for me?”

Percy, ignoring her tone, glared at her.

“What business do you have here?” He frowned.

Astoria sighed.

“If you _must_ know, I was trying to go to the bathroom before you so _rudely_ interrupted me.” Astoria shrugged, “But since you trust me so little, why don’t you follow me inside? You can watch as I pull down my skirt and take a pi –”

Percy didn’t let her finish, raising his hand to silence her. His cheeks reddened with a mixture of anger and embarrassment, and Astoria knew she had gotten to him.

“Five points from Slytherin for your vulgarity!” Percy forced out, his tone slightly shrill as he hurried off.

Once she was sure he had left, she grinned to herself. Boys were _too easy_. With a bit of a skip in her step, she walked into Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

* * *

“How’re you doing today, Myrtle?” A loud voice brought Harry Potter’s attention away from the polyjuice potion Hermione was working on.

Hazel-eyes. Wavy black hair. A confident grin. Harry found himself meeting the animated gaze of Astoria Greengrass. He still didn’t know much about her, despite spending his first-year Christmas with her, and it wasn’t as if he talked to her older sister, Daphne. To him, the younger Greengrass sibling was an enigma, a puzzle he just couldn’t figure out.

At hearing her voice, Myrtle let out a loud wail, submerging herself in one of the nearby toilets with a splash, getting water everywhere. Luckily, Hermione had the presence of mind to move the cauldron away.

“Guess she was busy.” Astoria shrugged, taking a seat between him and Ron on the floor, forcing the red-haired boy to move over to accommodate her, “So, what’re you guys up to?”

Harry was at a loss for words. He just _knew_ Malfoy knew more than he was letting on about the attacks on muggleborns, but the only way he’d ever fess up to something like that was if he thought he was talking to one of his friends.

Hence, the polyjuice potion plan was born.

Harry would take on the persona of Gregory Goyle, Ron would assume Vincent Crabbe’s identity, and after a long discussion about ethics, Hermione would transform into Azula. He knew that Hermione had some lingering regret about having to take on Azula’s identity – they had bonded a bit during what he dubbed “the troll incident” last year – but he and Ron were able to convince her that what they were doing was for the greater good.

“Let me guess. Lacewing fly. Fluxweed. _Leeches_.” Astoria said the last word in disgust, “It’s either you three have weird eating habits, or you’re trying to brew polyjuice potion.”

Harry froze, and out of his peripheral, he saw Ron’s mouth drop open. Even Hermione seemed stunned with Astoria’s very accurate guess. Shaking his head, Harry faced the Slytherin girl.

“What makes you say that?” Harry asked weakly, and he cursed himself for the slight tremble in his voice. He was usually a better liar than this.

He ignored the voice in his head that reminded him that he was a _terrible_ liar.

“I don’t know what the three of you _think_ of me.” Astoria started dryly, “but I happen to be top of my year in potions. It’s my favorite subject, in fact. If you want, I can tell you the ingredients you’re missing. Bicorn horn and –”

Astoria didn’t get to finish what she was saying, for Ron’s wand was soon pointed at her throat. The Slytherin girl didn’t even blink.

“ _Ron!_ ” Hermione hissed, trying and failing to point Ron’s wand away from Astoria, “You remember what your mother said? Not another foot out of line or else –”

“I’m not just going to let a _Slytherin_ ruin what we’ve been working on for –”

“You think Draco’s the Heir of Slytherin.” Astoria interrupted Ron and Hermione’s conversation, and all attention was returned to her, “He hates muggleborns, so why wouldn’t he be, right? I could help you, if you’ll let me.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. Her words appeared earnest, and her eyes trustworthy, but he didn’t understand why she would willingly help them. So, he told her so.

“Draco and I used to be so close, but he’s… _changed_ ever since the summer.” Astoria’s eyes welled up with tears, and Harry immediately felt uncomfortable. He’d never been good with calming anyone down, much less girls, “He’s so caught up in his pureblood mania, and I’m afraid he’s gotten himself in too deep this time.”

“What do you mean _this time_?” Hermione asked, shuffling over so she could wrap her arms around the crying Slytherin girl.

Astoria sniffled, wiping her eyes on the fabric of her robes.

“I don’t know how to explain it. It’s just… _bad things_ have been happening whenever he gets upset.” Astoria said quietly, “I just want the old Draco back. Maybe if I knew why he was acting this way, that’d be a good start.”

Harry rubbed his forehead tiredly. He didn’t know what to say to that. The Slytherin girl seemed distraught at the loss of her friendship with Malfoy, and while he bore no sympathy for the rotten Slytherin boy, Astoria didn’t seem to deserve the unfair treatment she was receiving.

“You’re right. We’re brewing a polyjuice potion.” Harry sighed, ignoring Ron’s incredulous look, “We’ve been noticing a trend with these attacks, and wanna get to the bottom of it. We’re gonna use it to interrogate Malfoy, and see what he’s up to.”

“D-do you really think it’s gonna work?” Astoria stammered, her tear marks dry, but still very much present.

Harry shrugged.

“Don’t know, but it’s the best choice we’ve got right now.”

Astoria nodded, wrapping her robes tightly around herself as she stood up.

“I wish you guys luck.” She murmured before walking to the door.

“You’re not going to _help_ us?” Ron exclaimed, “ _Really_?”

Astoria stopped, turning around to face them once again.

“Your brothers have Filibuster fireworks.” Astoria said quietly, “Use that as a diversion during your potions class, and you’ll be sure to find the bicorn horn and boomslang skin in Snape’s office.”

With that, she left the bathroom, leaving Harry and his friends with a new idea in mind. A sense of hope filled Harry’s veins, and judging by the look on Ron’s and Hermione’s faces, they felt it too.

So caught up in his hope, he didn’t even bother questioning why Astoria knew what Snape kept in his office, or how she knew about Fred and George’s pranks.

* * *

Swelling solution was an elementary potion. So elementary, in fact, that Draco had memories of brewing it with his mother at seven-years-old. Granted, his mother was a potions expert, but that wasn’t the point. He was dreadfully bored with the class, and as a result, resorted to flicking puffer-fish eyes at Potter and Weasley. He knew that they couldn’t retaliate, which only made it even more fun.

“You’re being childish.” Azula murmured from her seat next to him, but a quick glance at her showed him that she was grinning.

Draco rolled his eyes. She shouldn’t throw stones at a glass house. She, herself, had just been lobbing dried nettles across the room at Longbottom, who looked as if he were about to burst into tears at any moment with the assault.

“I can’t believe,” Draco lowered his voice, “that Potter and his goons think they can impersonate people with polyjuice. I’d see through the ruse in a heartbeat.”

“They’re _Gryffindors_ , Draco. Not Ravenclaws.” Azula reminded him, “Brawn and no brain, remember?”

Draco nodded. When Astoria had returned to the Room of Requirement with tear marks on her face, Draco had immediately grown angry, vowing to hunt down anyone who had made her cry. His protectiveness got a _coo_ from Azula, and a pinch on the cheek from Astoria, who kindly reminded him that she was great at fake crying on the spot. She relayed to them all the information Potter had confided in her, and Draco had to admit that he was impressed with her acting ability. He didn’t yet know what he’d do about Potter’s nosiness, but he could work that out over the soon approaching Christmas holiday.

He was brought out of his thoughts when Azula grabbed his arm. He followed her gaze to Potter, who held some kind of object in his hand as he reared his arm back. Azula’s eyes widened, and she raised her wand, just in time for Potter to throw the object towards Goyle’s potion.

“ _Protego_.” Azula casted for the second time that day.

The result was instantaneous. Goyle’s cauldron exploded, and with it, his potion flew everywhere. Azula’s protective spell shielded both him and Azula from the blast, along with Daphne and Blaise, who were conveniently sitting in the seats behind them. All around them, faces swelled to comical proportions, and Draco could’ve sworn he heard Blaise mutter a soft _Grazie Dio_ – _thank God_.

He didn’t pay attention to the hoard of students who rushed towards Snape, eager to get some of his Deflating Draft, but he _did_ notice when Hermione Granger slipped in and out of Snape’s office, her robes noticeably bulging before her. He turned to Azula to see if she, too, had noticed, and wasn’t surprised that she had.

The Golden Trio wasn’t going to get away with whatever they were planning. Draco would make sure of it.

* * *

When she first saw the _Dueling Club_ sign, Azula was intrigued. DADA was still her favorite subject – despite the idiot who taught it – and that was how she and Draco ended up attending the club’s first meeting. It had been easy to convince Draco to go with her. He, too, loved DADA, and figured it’d be useful for him to learn spells he could use against Harry.

Of course, with all good things in her life, there were negatives to outweigh the positives. Zuko had decided to join the club as well, and if that wasn’t bad enough, _Lockheart_ was the club’s chaperone.

The first duel – more of a demonstration than anything – ended with Lockheart being disarmed by Snape’s _Expelliarmus_ before the DADA professor could properly blink. Not long after that, the students were divided into pairs to work on their dueling skill. To her great amusement and smugness, Azula was paired with Zuko.

“Did you miss me, brother?” Azula cooed at him, taking pleasure in how disturbed her brother seemed by her.

Zuko grunted, the sound making him sound like a wild hippo cow.

“Let’s just get this over with.” Zuko said harshly, wasting no time in pointing his wand at her, “ _Stupefy_!”

Azula rebounded the spell with a simple _Protego_ , countering with the bat bogies hex. Zuko, to her surprise, raised a shield of his own, and she had to dodged the spell as it came hurtling back towards her. They both ignored the instruction to only work on _defensive_ spells.

“ _Confringo_!” Zuko cried out.

Azula watched in half puzzlement and half disdain as the flames came towards her. Had her brother truly forgotten that she was a firebending prodigy? With a mere raise of her hand, the flames dissipated.

“ _Expel_ –” Zuko tried to say, but Azula cut him off with a “ _Tarantallegra_ ” of her own.

His legs jerking wildly, Zuko was unable to control the movements of his own legs. Azula laughed at him, her laughs growing louder the more Zuko glared at her. With a simple cast of _Finite Incantatem_ , Snape put Zuko out of his misery.

Lockheart, sensing that his first dueling club meeting was proving unsuccessful so far, attempted to teach them to block offensive spells. Azula already knew the spell _Protego_ , so she tuned out his directions. What caught her interest was when Harry and Draco ended up being opponents. She gathered that one of the professors – probably Snape – thought it’d be a great idea to pair them up.

On Lockheart’s’ count, Draco yelled out a spell that even Azula had never heard of.

_Serpensortia_.

A large snake came out from the end of his wand, and Azula saw as Harry’s eyes widened in shock as it moved towards Justin Finch-Fletchley. The Gryffindor golden boy, instead of backing away from the creature, sauntered towards it.

“ _Leave it alone_!” Harry hissed, and the gasps of the surrounding students could be heard.

Azula didn’t understand why they were reacting with such horror. All Harry had been trying to do was get the snake away from a fellow student. What was so horrible about that?

“ _This is stupid_.” Azula said darkly, watching as the snake turned to face her, “ _Stop your shenanigans this instant so I can go back to pummeling my brother_.”

The shocked gazes turned from Harry to her, and Azula, again, didn’t understand what the dramatics were for. The snake abruptly stopped its movements, laying still at her feet. A tug on her arm brought her away from the snake, and before she knew it, she was in one of Hogwarts’ many corridors, being dragged by Draco.

“Let go of me and tell me what you’re doing.” Azula demanded, ripping her sleeve out of Draco’s grasp.

“You never told me you were a _parselmouth_.” Draco whispered the last word.

Azula opened her mouth to ask him exactly what a _parselmouth_ was, but a voice entered her head before she could.

‘ _I can speak to snakes._ ’ The voice from the Room of Requirement repeated eerily.

Azula shook her head to rid herself of the voice.

“If I can talk to snakes,” Azula said haughtily, “that can only be to my benefit, right?”

“You mean you _didn’t know_?” Draco asked her, and to Azula, he seemed paler than usual.

Azula shrugged.

“Listen, Draco. If I’m not bothered by it, you shouldn’t be either.” Azula replied easily, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some work to do in advance.”

She walked away from him, not expecting him to follow her. Talking to snakes should’ve excited her, but she got the strange sense that her new ability – which had only manifested after that strange mist emitted from the journal – wasn’t something to be lauded.

* * *

“She’s talking to snakes now.” Draco murmured quietly to Astoria.

After Azula had abandoned him in the middle of the hallways, Draco made his way to the Slytherin common room, grateful that Astoria was already there. The common room was practically empty, except for Malia di Angelo, who wouldn’t stop pacing. He didn’t think she’d be too much of an issue, though.

“That journal’s possessed her.” Astoria declared firmly, “I’m certain of it.”

While Draco had already come to that troubling conclusion, hearing Astoria confirm it didn’t make him feel any better.

“The question is what we do about it.” Astoria rested her head on the arm of the couch they were sitting on, letting out a heavy sigh.

“I’m staying here for Christmas, but I can write to my mother.” Draco thought aloud, “She seemed to know something about that journal when I mentioned it over the summer. It belonged to my Aunt Bellatrix during the first war. Maybe she’ll know how to help.”

Astoria scoffed.

“You’re gonna tell Aunt Cissa that one of your friends has been possessed by a journal?” Astoria asked him in disbelief, “She’ll pull you out of Hogwarts faster than Snape can take points from Gryffindor. You _know_ that.”

“I’ll be discreet.” Draco defended himself, “She doesn’t have to know the details. Trust me on this one.”

Astoria stared at him for a while, the doubt clear in her eyes.

“Are you sure this’ll help?” She asked in a small voice.

Draco gave her his best attempt at a reassuring smile, but knew that it came out as more of a grimace.

“No, but it’s the best shot we have.”


	22. Preliminary Research

A loud  _slap_  resounded throughout the Great Hall. The force of it sent Draco's head flying back, so swiftly that he was surprised he hadn't suffered whiplash. He knew that his cheek was red, if the stinging was anything to go by, and he glared at his assaulter.

"You  _disgust_  me, Draco Malfoy!" Astoria yelled furiously at him, tears shining in her hazel eyes as she stormed away from him, towards where her sister was waiting for her.

Daphne met his gaze questioningly, and he couldn't even muster the strength to give her a shrug. He chose, instead, to keep rubbing his cheek. He was well aware of the stares he was receiving – even a few professors had stopped what they were doing to glimpse at what had happened – but ignored them in favor of turning to Azula.

"Remind me again why her  _slapping me_  was part of the plan." Draco grumbled miserably as the two of them left the Great Hall, leaving behind the mass of students returning to their homes for the Christmas holiday.

Unsurprisingly, the Firinian girl was chuckling, not even bothering to hide that fact. She turned to face him, only to dissolve into stronger laughter. She didn't even seem contrite that it was  _her_  plan that caused Astoria to slap him.

"I told you already." Azula grinned, "We needed a way for Harry and his friends to think that she isn't loyal to you, despite being your childhood friend. Obviously, a slap was the way to go."

Draco scowled.

"You couldn't have just told her to yell at me?"

Azula shrugged.

"Where's the fun in that?" She asked him innocently, pinching his non-sore cheek, "Cheer up, Draco. It was just a little smack. You're just lucky it wasn't my father who'd hit you."

At her words, Azula froze, as if she hadn't quite meant to disclose that bit of information. Draco watched as her walking became stiffer, her fists clenching and unclenching rapidly as she walked with her head turned straightforward. He pondered her words, not liking the implication of them.

 _You're lucky it wasn't my father who hit you_.

"What do you mean by that?" Draco asked her hesitantly. He knew by now that she wasn't the biggest fan of bringing up her father unless it was to boast about how she was his favorite child, but there was something in her words that just didn't sit well with him.

Azula said nothing for a while, though she gradually loosened up.

"Well," Azula said, "he gave Zuko that scar. One could only imagine the force necessary to make it so permanent."

She said the words nonchalantly, but Draco got the impression that it wasn't what she was alluding to before. He stared at her quietly for a moment, trying to decide whether or not he should just drop the matter, before sighing. If there was one thing he'd learned about Azula, it was this:

 _She'd tell him things in her own time_.

"What do you suggest we do now?" Draco settled for changing the subject, albeit reluctantly.

Sensing the sudden change in topic, Azula looked over at him, seemingly scrutinizing him. He didn't know what she was looking for, but she seemed to have found it, the right corner of her lips raising almost imperceptibly. Her eyes shone with an emotion that Draco didn't understand, but he chose to call it  _gratefulness_.

"We need to find books on this Salazar Slytherin person." Azula mused, "Or something about…possession. I still don't think I'm possessed, but if it'll get you and Astoria off my case, so be it."

Draco would've smirked at her, but, knowing that it would only cause the Firinian girl to become angry, refrained from doing so. Instead, he voiced a concern that was on his mind.

"The books on Slytherin should be easy to find, but the books on possession are sure to be in the restricted section." Draco brought up, "How do you suppose we get those?"

A cruel grin donned Azula's features, and Draco almost regretted asking.

"Leave that to me."

* * *

Of all the ways Azula could've gained access to the restricted section, Draco didn't think it would've involved nearly  _burning down the library_.

Azula had insisted that Draco be the one to distract Madam Pince in the empty library. Walking over to the strict librarian, Draco gave her his best smile, the one he thought made him seem as charming as his mother. Madam Pince stared at him, unimpressed.

"What can I do for you today, Mr. Malfoy?" Madam Pince droned in a bored tone, looking as if she'd rather be doing anything other than talking to him, "I didn't expect to see you here today?"

It took great effort for Draco's smile to remain on his face, for he, too, grew bored of this charade. Resting his hands on the desk between them, Draco leaned closer.

"I've been having a little… _problem_  recently, Madam Pince." Draco said quietly, mindful of how the librarian hated loud voices in the library, "One that only you can fix."

Madam Pince scoffed.

"You Blacks are all the same." Madam Pince rolled her eyes, "You think you can waltz in here, lay on the charm, and get me to agree with anything, don't you? It didn't work when your cousin Sirius tried it – and Merlin knows that man was something else – and it won't work now."

Draco's nose scrunched up in disgust. He hated being reminded that he was related to such a blood traitor. Despite the fact that the man in question was currently in Azkaban for murdering twelve muggles and being responsible for Peter Pettigrew's disappearance, once a blood traitor,  _always_  a blood traitor.

"I don't know what you  _think_  I came in here for –" Draco hissed.

" _Mind your tone, young man!_ "

"But all I wanted was –"

"My books!" Madam Pince cried out abruptly, pointing behind Draco as she rushed out from behind her desk, " _Aguamenti_!  _Aguamenti_!"

As Draco turned to face the scene behind him, amusement rose within him. There, lapping at the carpeted floor in front of him, were blue flames. They inched closer and closer to nearby shelves filled with books, seeming to increase in height with each inch gained. Madam Pince was furiously trying to put out the flames, but every time she was successful in putting them out, more came to replace them. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Azula giving him a  _thumbs up_  as she left the library, unnoticed. With her departure, the flames ceased to exist. Breathing a sigh of relief, Madam Pince whirled around, pointing accusatorily at him.

"Get out! Get out!" she cried, her voice as loud as Draco had ever heard it, "Everything was fine until you showed up. Are you hard of hearing?  _Get out_!"

Draco wasted no time in scurrying out, meeting Azula outside. The Firinian witch was grinning madly by the time he had caught up with her.

"I didn't think you were gonna burn the library down!" Draco whisper-shouted as they hurried away from the library.

"I'm not an  _idiot_." Azula scoffed, "Have some faith in my firebending abilities, would you?"

Draco only rolled his eyes as they made their way to the Grand Staircase. He followed Azula as she chose to ascend the stairs instead of descending them, assuming that she was leading them to the Room of Requirement. His assumption was proven correct when he realized they were on the seventh floor, walking a path that had become as familiar to him as the one to the Slytherin dungeons. It was only the sound of an unwelcome voice that broke his attention away from walking.

"You two don't belong on this floor."

The voice belonged to Zuko Ryland, Azula's older brother. A sharp intake of breath could be heard from next to him, and as Draco turned around, he noticed the sharpest of glares on Azula's face, which was avidly returned by Zuko.

"You're no prefect, Zuko, and even if you were, I don't take orders from you." Azula frowned, "Now why don't you be a good turtle duckling and run back to mama? Save yourself the trouble."

Zuko gritted his teeth, Azula's words already getting to him. If Draco didn't already know that Azula could handle herself, he'd be seriously concerned that Zuko would try to hit her. Of course, her savage handling of him during their last Gryffindor vs Slytherin quidditch match proved her more than capable of taking him down.

"You're not a Gryffindor." Zuko's eyes narrowed, "Did dad… _father_  send you to spy on me?"

Azula laughed, though not kindly.

"You think Father would waste his time thinking about you?" She shoved past him, beckoning for Draco to follow her, "Father only concerns himself with success, and you've always been a failure. Remember when you tried to show Grandfather your so-called firebending skills? How did that end again?"

Zuko said nothing, but Azula was quick to answer for him.

"That's right." Azula smirked, "You fell flat on your face –  _like_   _always_  – and had to have Mother kiss your boo-boos. If you don't want a repeat of that, I suggest you stay  _out of my way_."

Draco snickered at her comments, but Zuko was not so easily amused. Shoving past his sister, the Gryffindor made his way to the Grand Staircase, disappearing from both Draco's and Azula's sight. He couldn't help but think that Azula's older brother was pathetic. It was obvious that the older boy was always clamoring for attention.

"We've wasted enough time for the day." Azula declared, bringing Draco out of his thoughts, placing one of her procured books into his hand –  _Possession and All Its Uses_  by Roald Flanstein, "We have books to read."

* * *

_Possession takes place in many forms. One manner of possession is via the Imperius curse. Known as part of the trio of unforgivable curses, the Imperius allows the user to control the mind of their target. While effects may vary, depending on the mental resistance of the target, one thing is certain – the chance of fully resisting the Imperius is rare, and anyone who manages to do so ought to be lauded as a hero._

Azula sighed, tossing the book on the couch next to her. In the Room of Requirement, Draco occupied one of the couches and she the other, in an effort to find out some information on possession. Since Draco and Astoria were so convinced that the diary had  _possessed_  her, for the sake of her sanity, she decided to humor them and do some research of her own.

She had even read an entire book on  _Parselmouths_  – the strange word Draco had introduced her to after it was found that she was able to speak to snakes. She didn't understand what the fuss was about, but as Christmas holiday came soon after the revelation, she was unable to see the general Hogwarts population's thoughts on the matter. Harry was revealed to be one as well, a fact that she had heard many Gryffindors speaking about.

What she didn't understand is why they weren't as concerned with  _her_  being able to talk to snakes.

"Potter's the  _Chosen One_." Draco answered the question that she didn't realize she'd asked aloud, "It makes more sense for him to be Slytherin's Heir."

"But  _why_?" Azula pressed, a frown on her face, "Are you trying to say I'm not worthy enough to be some long-dead sorcerer's heir?"

Draco pursed his lips, shaking his head as he put down the book he was reading.

"Never said that." Draco held his hands up in slight surrender, "But think about it. Potter stopped the Dark Lord as an infant, without having any kind of knowledge on his side whatsoever. If there's anyone who would be the likely candidate to be Slytherin's heir, it's Potter."

Azula mused on his words, admitting to herself that his explanation  _did_  seem plausible. As far as she was aware, her only noteworthy ancestors hailed from the Fire Nation, and from the little she knew about wizarding lore, Salazar Slytherin came from England. She didn't know why she was suddenly able to speak to snakes, but figured that it was highly unlikely for her to be Slytherin's secret heir.

But  _Harry_ , though? She didn't understand how someone with relatives like the Dursleys could be heir to such a powerful lineage.

She didn't know when Draco had shifted so he was sitting on the same couch as her, but refocused her attention on him when she noticed he was pointing at one of the books in her pile.

 _Horcruxes_  by Phineas Nigellus Black

"Your mother's maiden name is Black, yes?" Azula asked before Draco could make whatever point he was going to.

"Yeah," Draco said distractedly, "he's an ancestor of mine. Why'd you get that book?"

On second thought, Azula didn't recall retrieving this book from the library. She must've gotten it mixed up in the surrounding books, because if she were being honest, once she saw the first book on possession, she quickly grabbed as many nearby books as she could carry.

"Picked it up in my hurry." A better excuse in Azula's mind than outright admitting that she made a mistake, "What does it matter? Maybe it can help."

Draco's face paled, his teeth gnawing worriedly at his bottom lip. Azula raised a brow at him, nudging him in the shoulder.

"What's the matter, Drakey Poo?" She tried using Pansy's horrid term of endearment for him to get a smile from the pale boy, but to no avail, "You're not afraid of a little horcrux, are you?"

At once, Draco's demeanor changed, heat filling his cheeks as he snatched the horcrux book out of Azula's hands. She opened her mouth to protest, but there was something in the look on her friend's face that gave her pause.

"We shouldn't be messing around with this book." Draco said firmly, resting the book next to him.

Azula seized the opportunity to take the book back from him, holding it to her chest in a manner that would prevent Draco from trying to take it. He glared at her, but she was left unfazed. She didn't understand what the big deal on horcruxes was, and told him so.

After all, the book was written by  _his_  ancestor, so how bad could it be?

"There are things my family is capable of…" Draco trailed off, rubbing his forehead in anxiety, "Look, I'd prefer if you didn't look into horcruxes. Nothing good can come from it."

There was something bothering Draco about the subject – that much was obvious – but Azula knew that she wasn't going to be able to get it out of him. Sighing, she opened the book regardless, reading the introductory page aloud.

_Horcruxes, first created by Herpo the Foul in Greece, are examples of extremely dark magic, and ought not be used lightly. This book will not go into detail on how to create a horcrux. For more information on how to do so – and consequently, how to destroy one – your best bet would be to look at the book Secrets of the Darkest Art. It truly –_

"I can't listen to this." Draco interrupted her reading, standing up from the couch and brushing off his school robes.

"Where are you going?" Azula grinned, "Don't you find the Dark Arts fascinating?"

Draco didn't answer her, leaving the Room of Requirement without another word. Azula stared after him, wondering what had gotten into him before she shrugged. Horcruxes seemed like an interesting subject, so she opened the book once more, ready to continue reading.

A sharp pain came over her, forcing her to drop the book. Her vision grew blurry, and before she could utter a word, her vision went completely black. When she came to again, she found herself in a peaceful meadow. It was one she had been to before as a young child, and almost forgot as she grew older. She could see a figure donned in Firinian robes, standing with their back facing her. Indignant at being drawn out of consciousness, she marched over to the figure – well aware that her firebending would be useless in this realm, but determined not to let that stop her.

"I take it you're the one who keeps knocking me out." Azula stated dryly.

The figure didn't turn around, but let out a deep chuckle that made her realize it was a male.

"I prefer to think of it as  _guidance_ , but to each her own." The figure's voice was familiar – not so familiar that she could put a name to it, but enough so that she knew she'd heard it before.

"What do you want with me?" Already, Azula grew tired of being in this place. It was too peaceful for her liking, and she wanted to go back to the Room of Requirement.

The figure said nothing for a while, eventually turning around to face her. He was wearing a mask, and as she reached forward to unmask him, he pushed her arms back.

"Why are you wearing a mask?" Azula demanded.

The figure cocked his head to the side, surveying her before letting out a deep sigh.

"Don't we all?" The figure asked her sagely, walking around her in a circular gait, "Wear masks, that is. Your brother. Your uncle. Your father. You.  _Your mother_."

" _Don't mention her_." Azula said through gritted teeth.

The figure held up a hand, and instantly, Azula felt calm. She didn't know what sort of magic he was using on her, but didn't appreciate her emotions being manipulated.

"Very well, I won't." The figure sounded almost amused, "It's not my place to tell you what you'll eventually learn."

"And who are you to tell me that I'm wearing a mask?" Azula scowled, "Or that my father is? You have  _no idea_  what you're talking –"

"I know all too well, and that's the problem." The figure interrupted her, his tone sad where it was once jovial, "But that is neither here nor there. I've come to warn you."

Azula ran a hand over her face, wary of this discussion. She knew now that this was the same man who'd tried to convince her that the journal was evil, and while he  _might_  have been right, there was no way in hell she'd ever tell him that.

"If you're here about the journal, don't bother." Azula waved him off dismissively, "Evil journal, bad things, we've been through this before."

"It is no mistake that the horcrux book is currently in your possession." The figure murmured gravely, ignoring Azula's words completely, "I sense a great darkness within you now, even darker than the one that I've seen fester within you since your formative years."

Of all the things Azula could've focused on, she reflected on the figure's last words.

"You've been watching me since I was a child?" Azula asked him incredulously, "Talk about creepy."

The figure sighed in apparent frustration, throwing his hands into the air. Flames circled the two of them, causing Azula's eyes to widen. So  _he_  could firebend in this realm but  _she_  couldn't? Was this some kind of punishment of sorts?

"I've been trying to help you, and that fact won't change." The figure said calmly, despite the blazing fire still surrounding them, "But I can only help you as much as you want to be helped, and right now, you're not ready."

Azula didn't like how foreboding his words had become, and as the meadow around her began to blur, she found that she still had one more question.

"And what of the horcrux book?"

The blurring slowed down, and Azula knew that she was being granted a bit more time in the realm.

"You do not need it right now. It won't help." The figure raised his hand, and both the flames and blurring intensified. Azula could practically feel the flames licking at her robes, the heat being almost too much to bear, "That is not to say that it never will."

With a sharp gasp, Azula was brought back to the Room of Requirement, the shock from the change in scenery causing her to fall off the couch. Grabbing at her chest, she was unsurprised when she realized her heart was beating rapidly in her chest, her lungs starved for air. She glanced at the horcrux book again, watching as it lounged almost mockingly on the couch.

Raising herself from the floor, she took a deep breath. She knew that the petrification dreams were caused by the journal – that much was obvious – but she didn't know what caused her to keep having visions of that male figure. Questions raced through her mind, one after the next.

_Who was the figure? What did he want with her? Were those dreams, or something else entirely?_

Looking up at the ceiling for answers, she blew a stray bang out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. Turning the horcrux book face down, she decided to listen to the figure.

She wouldn't bother learning about horcruxes today – there was always later to worry about them.

* * *

After leaving the Room of Requirement, Draco found himself at the owlery. He  _knew_  what he was talking about with the horcruxes. He'd heard one too many conversations between his parents about  _the old times_  to not know about them. He just didn't understand why Azula was so enraptured by them. Nevertheless, the minor disagreement between the two of them gave him the perfect opportunity to write a letter to someone he'd been meaning to write to.

Once he was satisfied with his letter, he sent it off with his owl, Hyperion. He decided he'd stop by the Hogwarts kitchens to grab a quick snack before heading to the Slytherin dungeons. Of course, who else would he run into aside from Harry Potter?

"We need to talk." The Gryffindor golden boy said before Draco could even say a word.

Draco crossed his arms, staring at Potter impatiently. He had better things to do than waste his time with whatever drama Potter was going to stir up.

"No Weasel or mudblood?" Draco mocked, noticing the lack of cronies on Potter's arm, "What's the matter? Lover's spat?"

Potter rolled his eyes.

"I don't have time for this." The green-eyed boy mumbled to himself before looking up to properly face Draco, "Listen. I  _know_  you saw me talk to that snake the other day, but I also know you saw Azula talk to it too."

Draco snorted. Did Potter really think he was going to confirm whatever accusation he was trying to make? Slytherins stuck together, and Potter was no Slytherin.

"You're wasting my time, Potter." Draco sneered, attempting to move past him, "Now leave me alone."

A hand gripped Draco's wrist, and he wished – now more than ever – that he had Azula's firebending ability.

"You  _have_  to know that I'm not Slytherin's heir." Potter's tone seemed almost desperate, but Draco couldn't care less.

"And you think Azula is?" Draco raised a brow, "Why do you think I'd tell you what I know?"

Potter was quiet for a moment, as if he was reluctant to answer the question.

"Well?" Draco prompted.

"Because," Potter sighed, gesturing to Draco, "you're just like her."

Of all the things Potter could've told him, he didn't expect him to say that.

"What do you mean?"

Potter again seemed conflicted, running a hand through his forever messy black hair. He stared long and hard at Draco, seemingly contemplating whether or not he should answer the question. After a while, Potter sighed again, shaking his head.

"Never mind." He shrugged, walking away from Draco without another word.

Draco was left to ponder the weirdness of the situation. What exactly did Potter see in Azula that was so present in him? Shaking his head to rid himself of the thought, he pushed the question of the furthest recess of his mind.

Potter wasn't worth his thoughts.

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy had been enjoying a leisurely day in Malfoy Manor when she received an owl from her son. Knowing that Lucius was shut away in his study, she didn't worry about him asking about the contents of the letter. Taking a sip of her chamomile tea, she read her son's words:

_Mummy,_

_I apologize for my lack of letters recently. School has been hectic with all the coursework and quidditch games I've had to prepare for. I haven't forgotten you, though, so I figured what better way to let that be known than to send you a letter?_

_While studying, I found that I had a question. Do you remember that journal I mentioned over the summer? Father's journal? What was so important about it? It can't be more than something to write in, so why did it cause such an argument between you and Father? Is there something I'm missing?_

_I'd appreciate it if you told me all you knew about the journal. I simply can't rest until I know more about it. Surely, the knowledge won't be dangerous._

_Right?_

_Anyhow, I hope you enjoy Christmas, and give Father my regards, please. I love you._

_Your son,_

_Draco_

As she finished Draco's letter, Narcissa knew immediately which journal Draco was referring to. It was a journal that had been in Bellatrix's possession prior to her incarceration, and she still didn't know how Lucius had managed to get a hold of it. Taking another sip of her tea, she thought of how best to respond to her son's letter without alarming him, though she got the sinking feeling that Draco knew more about that journal than he was letting on. Without warning, a memory came to her – from the year after she had wed Lucius – one of a conversation she had had with her older sister before she had completely and utterly lost her mind.

_They had been in Bellatrix's room at Lestrange Manor, laughing as sisters did about idle gossip._

" _I can't believe Priscilla DuVernay married that oaf Parkinson." Narcissa had snickered, resting her head against the pillows behind her._

_Bellatrix smiled wickedly, leaning closer to her younger sister with a glint in her dark eyes._

" _Not everyone can be so lucky as to marry into the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black." Bellatrix spoke in a faux haughty tone, raising a fist to emphasize her words._

_Her statement had been a jab at Narcissa's husband, Lucius, who Bellatrix had never approved of for reasons she still wouldn't divulge. Narcissa sighed, glaring up at her sister in evident annoyance._

" _I wish you'd tell me what Lucius has done to make you loathe him so." Narcissa huffed, crossing her arms, "He's from a decent family. Supports…the right causes."_

" _You can say it, Cissa. He supports the_ ** _Dark Lord_** _." Bellatrix said loudly, prompting her sister to hush her, "What? Are you afraid aurors are going to hear? If my idiot husband is good for anything, it's putting up protective charms around the manor."_

_Narcissa rolled her eyes at her sister's blatant support for the Dark Lord. It wasn't that she didn't support him as well. It was the way she'd been raised, after all, but there was something almost…fanatic brewing under Bellatrix's surface. Her sister had always been a wild card, but ever since she entangled herself with the Dark Lord, she had only gotten worse._

_Not that Bellatrix would ever see it that way. To her, the Dark Lord was the best thing to happen to her since her magic manifested itself during her early childhood._

_Growing weary of the discussion, Narcissa turned on her side, away from her sister. She immediately felt a body pressed to her side, half on top of her as it began shaking her._

" _Come on, Cissa." Narcissa could tell by her tone that her sister had a grin on her face, "Don't be that way."_

_Narcissa pointedly ignored her sister in favor of looking around the bedroom. From where she was laying, she could see an ornate bookcase a few feet away from her. Pushing her sister off of her, she walked over to it, caressing the spines of the books displayed in front of her. As her hand reached a small journal-like book of sorts, a cold grip encased her wrist._

" _Don't touch that!" Bellatrix's voice had gone from teasing to stone cold, her grip tightening on her wrist until Narcissa relinquished her hold on the book._

_Narcissa pulled her hand out of her sister's grip roughly, blue eyes demanding an explanation for her sister's sudden erratic behavior. Bellatrix returned the glare heatedly, neither sister daring to blink. To her surprise, Bellatrix sighed, gesturing for Narcissa to sit next to her on the bed._

" _Someone gave that to me." Bellatrix murmured lowly, looking around cautiously as if the walls had grown ears, "Someone very important."_

_Judging by her vague explanation, Narcissa figured it had something to do with the Dark Lord. Reaching over to grasp her sister's hand in her own, she gave what she thought was a comforting smile._

" _And if something happened to it, you'd get in trouble, yes?"_

_Bellatrix snorted._

" _The only way it can be damaged is with a basilisk fang, but no, Cissa." Bellatrix frowned, "I wouldn't just get in trouble. He'd_ ** _kill_** _me, and probably you too."_

Narcissa was brought out of her memory by a sharp rapping on the door. Folding Draco's letter and putting it into the pocket of her robes, she rose to answer the door. In hindsight, she could've gotten Dobby to answer it, but decided that she needed something to clear her mind.

The aurors standing on her doorstep did the exact opposite.

"Mrs. Malfoy." The older auror greeted her, "We're here to conduct a search of your home."

Narcissa noted that the purple-haired auror said nothing, merely shuffling next to him.

"I'm Auror Graves, and this here is Nymphadora." Auror Graves introduced, "She's an auror-in-training."

"I  _told_  you already not to call me Nymphadora." The witch scowled, turning to face Narcissa, "It's  _Tonks_."

 _Tonks_. If Narcissa were recalling correctly, that was the surname of the mudblood her disowned sister, Andromeda, ran off with. Had she any doubt of that fact, the name  _Nymphadora_  was all she needed to confirm.

Stepping aside and storing that tidbit of information away, Narcissa gave the two aurors her most gracious smile. They seemed taken aback by her kindness.

"I assure you that we have nothing to hide." Narcissa informed them, suddenly thankful that the cursed journal was at Hogwarts instead of within the Manor, "Lucius is in his study. That'll be the second floor, third door on the right."

Turning her back on them, but still very much aware of their movements, Narcissa occupied a nearby chair, summoning a quill and a piece of parchment to begin to craft her response to Draco.

"Won't you…be accompanying us?" Tonks' voice could be heard, and Narcissa smiled to herself at the uncertainty in the younger woman's voice.

"Lucius will be of more use to you." Narcissa waved off her niece's comments, "Now if you'll excuse me, I was quite busy before the two of you interrupted my afternoon. And on Christmas Eve no less."

The receding footsteps told Narcissa that the aurors had made their way upstairs, and she let out a breath that she didn't realize she'd been holding. Glancing at the blank parchment in front of her, she thought of how best she could help her son.

When the idea came to her, she began to write.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Will now be updated once a week on Fridays.


	23. Almost Isn't Good Enough

The great thing about spending Christmas at Hogwarts was that there wasn't a horde of students crowding the halls. Azula found that she appreciated the quiet, as it gave her a lot of time to think. She hadn't seen much of Draco since he'd stormed away from the Room of Requirement, but it was probably better that way. She didn't want to have another argument with him over their differences in opinion. If she were being honest, arguments drained her, and she'd rather not let her holiday be spoiled by petty nonsense.

Christmas day itself came a lot faster than she had been expecting, and as she went to The Great Hall for breakfast that morning, she was surprised to see a fire hawk heading straight for her. It wasn't every day that her father chose to write her letters. In fact, she usually had to be the one to initiate correspondence. If she wasn't telling him about her firebending progress or her academic prowess, the two of them didn't speak. Simple as that. It wasn't as if she felt abandoned or anything.

No.  _Certainly not_.

If anything, she ought to be glad that her father hadn't deemed it necessary to send her any letters. When he decided to write to her, it usually meant one of two things:

1\. There was something she'd done that he didn't approve of.

2\. He was demanding something of her.

Her relationship with her father wasn't like the one Zuko had with Iroh. Unlike the elder Firinian prince, her father didn't deem it necessary to send her letters coddling her with affection and warmth. She didn't miss the way Zuko would always beam whenever their uncle had sent him a parcel full of sweets from whatever part of the Four Nations he was traveling in. She, however, didn't care. The relationship she had with her father was one of mutual respect. One of mutual ambition.

_One that evidently confused her as the fire hawk dropped its letter for her, flying away without sparing her a second glance._

She didn't know what caused her to hesitate before opening the letter. The nerves that had overcome her went away as soon as they had appeared, and she opened the letter without any further delay.

 _Princess Azula_  (Would it kill her father to call her  _Azula_  for once? She pushed the thought away, horrified at her traitorous train of thought. Her lips pursed as she thought of the way her uncle Iroh would refer to her brother as  _Prince Zuko_ , out of adoration instead of mere duty) _,_

 _Your midyear grades are satisfying_  (Azula wasn't sure if she wanted to know how her father had attained her grades) _. I wouldn't expect any less from a Ryland. Do not let the holiday make you lazy. I expect that you will continue your studying and your firebending training. I suspect that you understand the consequences for any slacking off._

_I will see you at the end of your school year. You are not to return home until then._

_~ Fire Lord Ozai_

Azula really shouldn't have been as surprised at her father's formality as she was. She had no doubt upon seeing the arrival of her father's letter that he would be abrupt and calculated with his words. Still, she couldn't help but hope for something more…she didn't have the word for it.

 _Tender?_ – No, that couldn't be right. Azula didn't have a tender bone in her body. She had inherited her ruthlessness from her father. Tenderness was for people like her mother, uncle, and brother.

Letting out a small sigh, she looked in relief as food appeared on the table in front of her. At least when she was eating, there was no room for unwelcome thoughts in her mind. A small, white box landed on the table next to her, and she didn't have to look up to know who it belonged to.

"Good morning, Draco." Azula greeted the blond, not bothering to look up from her food.

The responding snort that came from her right told her that her assumption of the person's identity was indeed correct.

"Merry Christmas to you too, Azula." Draco chuckled, opening the box he'd placed on the table in front of them.

A quick look inside the box revealed an assortment of sweets and pastries, many of which Azula had never seen before. About a quarter of them were lathered in some kind of frosting, and the sight made her cringe. She remembered the last time that she'd indulged in frosting-coated foods, and the end result was  _not_  pretty.

"Draco, you shouldn't have." Azula replaced her momentary disgust with a teasing grin, pushing the box closer to him, "The gesture is appreciated."

At her words, Draco stared at her as if she were crazy.

"They're not for  _you_." He frowned, pulling one of the pastries out to inspect it before popping it into his mouth, "They're from mother. If you're nice, I'll even be willing to share."

Azula couldn't help the chuckle that left her lips. When had  _she_  ever been known for being nice just for the heck of it? Judging by the sheepish look on Draco's face, the same thought had dawned on him.

"Fine." He amended, "I'll share with you, but only because you have common sense."

"It's about time someone around here appreciated my brilliance." Azula scoffed, the slight upturn of her lips denoting that she was only half serious.

Draco said nothing to her, choosing to take a sip of his drink. His gray eyes were focused on a point a few yards away from them. Only a few other students had opted to stay at Hogwarts over the break, and a majority of them weren't Slytherins. Among a few Hufflepuff students was Malia di Angelo. From afar, Azula couldn't properly discern the elder Slytherin girl's mental state, but she swore that the girl's eyes were red. She watched as the Italian Slytherin took a plate of food from one of the Hufflepuff girls before hurrying out of the Great Hall. If her slumped shoulders were any indication, there was an air of defeat about her.

"Where does she disappear to?" Azula couldn't help her curiosity, "She's never in the common room, and she doesn't eat in the Great Hall anymore."

Azula had always credited herself for her observation skills, and while she didn't know Blaise's cousin very well –  _or at all_  – it was easy for her to notice that she hadn't been acting herself. Not since Emilie Lacroix had been petrified.

"No idea." Draco's tone was nonchalant, but his eyes displayed a hint of worry, "She probably just needs time to cool off. She's still pissed that Flint's making her be seeker." He paused, "And marry him."

Azula raised an eyebrow. She'd heard of arranged marriages before – it wasn't very common in the Fire Nation, though the notion still existed within some noble families – but had never personally known anyone who had to be subjected to one. She almost felt bad for the Slytherin girl.

 _Almost_.

"Anyhow," Azula changed the subject, "what do you say about a horcrux-free day in the Room of Requirement?"

Draco's eyes narrowed suspiciously at her. The look probably would've been intimidating if he didn't have pastry crumbs on the corner of his mouth. Azula gestured to her own mouth, looking pointedly at the blond until he got the message.

"Why?" Draco asked as he roughly brushed the crumbs away from his mouth.

Azula couldn't take him seriously, as he had failed to remove all traces of the pastry. Rolling her eyes, she decided that wouldn't inform him of his shortcomings.

She wasn't his mother, after all.

"I've decided that I'll allow you to bear witness to my firebending." Azula stood up, ensuring that her pants were properly adjusted before staring at Draco expectantly, "Really, you should feel honored."

The blond didn't say anything, staring at her over the glass he was drinking out of as he finished his pumpkin juice. She refrained from saying anything about his choice in beverage. Just as she couldn't stand the taste of pumpkin juice, it was equally as likely that Draco wouldn't like fire flakes if she ever let him try them.

The fierce flavor of the snack would probably be too much for him.

Slowly, Draco rose from the table, gesturing for her to lead the way. Somehow, he didn't seem too impressed with the prospect of viewing her firebending, but she couldn't care less. She'd already had her early morning training, but more practice had never hurt anyone.

Whether he wanted to be or not, Draco  _would_  be impressed.

* * *

If Draco were being honest, the idea of sitting in the Room of Requirement watching Azula firebend didn't appeal much to him. Sure, firebending was a sight to behold, but how interesting could fire really be?

He got his answer with the first stream of fire she released.

He had learned a long time ago that Azula was prodigious with just about everything she tried, but this was something else entirely. She moved with such grace. Such poise. Such raw… _power_ , that he couldn't help but be in awe of her. Fire swirled masterfully around her, her body twisting and turning with the dangerous element surrounding her. Her hands created twin circles and she pointed straight in front of her. He had been expecting a narrow stream of fire to follow. Something small and purposeful.

After all, how much power could come from two outstretched fingers?

Apparently,  _a lot_.

Instead of hot flames, a burst of lightning erupted from Azula's fingertips, crashing against a target that the Room of Requirement had provided her with across the room. Draco's eyes widened, and he could hardly muster the ability to utter so much as a single word. He had known that Azula was a proficient firebender. Hell, the Firinian took every opportunity presented to her to boast about how superior her bending was when compared to Zuko's own.

 _But lightning bending?_ – There were no words for Draco's shock.

"Hm." Azula's light hum was enough to bring Draco out of his stunned stupor, "Not close enough."

Draco stood up from the couch he was sitting on, moving closer to his friend to see the target. As far as he was concerned, she had made the mark. He pointed at the space Azula was referring to.

"What're you talking about?" Draco frowned, "You hit it straight in the middle."

Azula tutted, shaking her head as she raised a sharp nail towards the spot where her lightning had come into contact with the target. Staring at it for a while, Draco couldn't understand what she was trying to get at.

"Almost," Azula said quietly, "is  _never_ good enough."

Draco squinted, leaning even closer to get a better look at the target. To his surprise, Azula hadn't actually hit the exact middle. Her aim had been off by what looked to be a centimeter or two. He didn't understand what the big deal was, though. She'd still done well in his opinion, and he told her so.

Azula gritted her teeth, frustration bright in her eyes.

" _Almost isn't good enough_." Azula repeated in a hiss, taking a step closer to Draco, her eyes glinting with an emotion he couldn't figure out, "It's not good enough for me, and it certainly isn't good enough for  _him_."

To Draco, there seemed to be a deeper reason behind why she couldn't simply accept not being perfect. He wasn't sure entirely what it was, but didn't know how to broach the subject without making her any angrier than she already was.

"Good enough for who?" Draco's voice was a whisper, as if he were afraid that speaking any louder would upset her more than she already was.

" _My father_." Azula scowled, fists clenched at her sides. Draco was genuinely afraid that she would lash out and hit the nearest thing in her path, which so happened to be him, "Agni forbid I do something that isn't  _perfect_. It's as if I'd never –"

Azula stopped speaking abruptly. The brief terrified look in her eyes told Draco that she hadn't meant to say so much. He reached out to touch her shoulder, and wasn't surprised in the least when she flinched away.

"Azula." Draco tried softly, but Azula merely glared at him.

"Drop it." She said harshly, leveling him with a final dark look before storming out of the Room of Requirement.

Draco let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding, sinking into the nearest chair. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face as he stared at the target Azula had struck with her lightning. From a distance, it looked perfect, but up close, the imperfection was made clear. He didn't know much about her relationship with her father, but if her outburst was anything to make assumptions from, it was tense.

Maybe, just maybe, they had another thing in common after all.

* * *

After renouncing the journal, Azula had found that she'd been having fewer dreams. The few dreams she had were inconsequential, containing nothing more than dull regurgitations of her life experiences and ambitions. Even  _she_  could admit that it got tiring sometimes to think of nothing but pure ambition.

Her eyes were closed as she sat on her bed. Deeming it potentially useful to meditate, she crossed her legs and brought her fingers together, breathing deeply as she repeated a mantra that her father had taught her since practically birth.

 _Almost isn't good enough_.

If she wanted to attain a true sense of peace, she couldn't settle for anything subpar. She had to have total concentration on her meditation. She couldn't afford to fall asleep as pitifully as Zuko would've if he ever tried to meditate. It was with this mindset that she attempted meditation with. Only when she was on the brink of sleep and wakefulness would she have achieved her goal.

 _Inhale_.

She saw nothing but pure blackness behind her eyelids. No colors swirling and no images trying to make their way out from the recesses of her brain.

 _Exhale_.

Her mind was blank. All thoughts had abandoned her, leaving her with only the sense of utter stillness and quiet. It was convenient for her that all of her roommates had decided to go home for the holidays. Had they chosen to stay, she probably would've had to have endured Pansy's irritating shrieking, or Daphne's sharp yelling for Pansy to  _shut up already_. She had nothing against the eldest Greengrass sister. She just didn't know her well enough to feel fully comfortable with her around.

 _Inhale_.

She could feel as her consciousness gradually slipped away from her. She didn't dare try and envision anything. The effort would prompt unbidden thoughts, and she was too close to feeling relaxed after the events of the previous few days to want that to happen.

 _Exhale_.

This was it. Her serenity washed over her in waves, and she allowed a brief smile to come onto her face. All of the tension had been released from her body. Her chakras felt rejuvenated, and she felt ready to take on whatever challenge came her way.

As if fate had decided to make its presence known, for soon after she reached a state of bliss, the silhouette of a face came to mind. It slowly became clearer until she was able to make out the features of a young man, who couldn't be older than 16 or 17. With dark brown hair and almost black eyes, the boy seemed almost aristocratic in nature. Tilting his head, the boy looked as if he were staring straight at Azula.

"You didn't believe me when I told you of my power." The boy smirked, shaking his head in a demeaning manner, "Now I am a part of you."

Azula refused to let this person she didn't even know intimidate her. Crossing her arms over her chest, she glared at the boy, who didn't flinch. In fact, his smirk only grew larger.

"Who are you?" Azula demanded.

The boy chuckled, moving closer to her. What had initially appeared as a head had now taken on a corporeal physique. He reached out to touch her shoulder, and she immediately swatted his hand away.

"That, my dear girl, will make itself known in good time." The boy was grinning now. He was genuinely amused, "For now, you shall understand that relationships mean nothing to me. What started as a mere correspondence now makes me weary. I shall be the puppeteer in this elaborate game."

The boy moved closer to her, lips close to her ear as he continued. She tried to move away from him, but found that she was unable to. Not out of actual fear, of course, but it seemed as if her dream had grown tired of her having some sense of control.

"And you," The boy finished after a dramatic pause, "shall be my marionette."

A popping sound alerted her to the fact that he was no longer near her. She looked around frantically, wanting nothing more than to pummel the boy with questions – and her fists.  _How dare he suggest that she was some kind of puppet!_  Rationally, she knew that he was long gone, and her opportunity to showcase her anger was missed. A deep sigh leaving her, she was finally able to move again, but was all too aware of the fact that she was still dreaming. She knew, however, that her dream was coming to a close, if the sudden orange light penetrating the darkness was anything to go by.

For the last few seconds of her dream, her mind was occupied by the words the strange boy had said to her.

 _What started as a mere correspondence now makes me weary_.

Azula didn't understand how corresponding with  _her_  of all people could make a person weary. She knew herself to be quite intelligent, a brilliant conversationalist as a matter of fact. She was well-versed in historical, political, and even social matters. Anyone would be privileged to have the opportunity to speak to her. Before she could go on a mental rant about her many wonderful qualities, a sudden thought struck her. She focused again on what the brown-haired boy had said to her.

 _What started as a mere_ ** _correspondence_** …

As soon as the realization dawned on her, she was catapulted swiftly out of her dream. Unlike the dreams she'd been having as of late, she didn't wake up gasping for breath, or feeling as if the walls were closing in on her. Instead, she felt an eerie calm with her sudden understanding.

 _The boy in her dream was the voice behind her journal_.

* * *

With the Great Hall empty, Draco could take the time to enjoy his breakfast in peace. It didn't surprise him that Potter and Weasley – who also stayed at Hogwarts for the Christmas holiday – were late risers, but didn't question his good fortune. Taking a bite of his croissant, he raised an eyebrow as he saw his owl, Hyperion, racing towards him, letter in his beak. The owl dropped the letter in front of him, just barely missing his glass of orange juice.

"Watch it!" Draco hissed to no avail, watching in annoyance as the owl merely flew away, more than likely towards the owlery.

Huffing to himself, he looked down at the letter that had nearly ruined his breakfast. Whatever annoyance he had previously disappeared entirely as he saw a familiar cursive written on the front. He tore open the letter as quickly as propriety would allow and began to read.

_My dearest Draco,_

_I was pleased to receive your letter earlier today. Thank you for keeping the woman who raised you in your thoughts_  (Draco rolled his eyes at that. His mother could be so dramatic at times) _. As it so happens, I am indeed aware of the journal you mentioned in your letter. Long story short, it once belonged to your Aunt Bellatrix, and eventually managed to get into your father's possession._

_You must promise me that you will discard of the journal as soon as possible. It will bring you nothing but trouble. I can assure you of that. The journal, as I am sure you've realized by now, has dark magical qualities, and if it gets into the wrong hands, it can be very dangerous._

_Should you find yourself experiencing strange things, a basilisk fang may be of use to you._

_Be careful, my love, and do stay safe._

_Yours always,_

_Mummy_

" _Yours always, mummy_." A voice mocked Draco, and he knew without looking who it was, "How cute."

"Good morning to you too, Azula." Draco murmured, raising his glass to take a sip of his juice, "How much did you read?"

"Only the part that told me that you and your mother are close." Azula answered vaguely, her tone amused despite her nonchalant words.

Wordlessly, Draco passed the letter over to Azula, allowing the Firinian girl to have a proper look for herself. He didn't really care if she mocked his relationship with his mother. To be offended by her teasing would be infantile.

"A basilisk fang?" Azula questioned, stealing one of Draco's remaining croissants. The blond opened his mouth to protest, but Azula cut him off, "How exactly does she expect us to find one of those?"

Draco shrugged, opting to down the last of his beverage in lieu of responding. He himself didn't know the answer to that, and he doubted his mother would have a good answer for him if he asked. He could tell that she had chosen to omit some information in her letter. Probably thought it'd do him a world of good to shield him.

"I suppose we're back to the library." Azula answered for him. After a moment, she frowned, a brief shudder racking her frame.

"What's wrong?" Draco asked her.

Azula hesitated for a moment, saying nothing. There was a deeply disturbed look in her eyes, and Draco found himself getting more and more concerned as the seconds passed.

" _Well_?"

"I never pegged myself for the kind of person to frequent the library." Azula sniffed, looking as if she had never said fouler words, "I feel like  _Mai_. She could always be found with her head in a book. That is, if she wasn't busy ogling  _Little Zuzu_."

At hearing the name he'd only been exposed to once before, Draco's interest was piqued. Azula rarely, if ever, spoke about her friends back in the Fire Nation. The last time he could recall her mentioning them was on their very first train ride to Hogwarts, and that was well over a year ago.

"Will I ever meet the infamous Mai and Ty Lee?"

Draco wasn't entirely serious in his inquiry, which is why it took him off guard when Azula responded truthfully.

"Well, considering the fact that Mai no longer lives in the Fire Nation and Ty Lee ran off to join a circus," Azula started contemplatively, breaking off a piece of her stolen croissant for later consumption, "it's unlikely that you'll meet them anytime soon."

Though her words were said casually, Draco found it hard to believe that she could be so callous about the fact that her friends lived a significant distance away from her. The look in her eyes stopped him from questioning her on it.

They continued their breakfast in an amicable silence, and he was glad for the lack of annoyances around him. The holidays were a time for peace and quiet. For spending time with friends and people who made him feel happy. A shadow came over him, and once he looked up to see who it was, all his serenity went out the window.

"What do you want, Potter?" Draco frowned. He hadn't seen the Gryffindor boy since their conversation a few days ago, when he'd insinuated that there was something about him that reminded him of Azula.

Potter, for once, didn't have a witty comeback for him, his attention focused completely on Azula.

"Your brother has been petrified."


	24. Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Between WiFi issues and migraine problems, it was practically impossible to post this yesterday. Anyways, without further delay, here is chapter 24!

Azula couldn't really understand why it was that family was so important, not with the way she'd been raised. For her whole life, she had learned that family was only nice when they sought to gain something. Her mother only spoke to her in gentle tones when she wanted her to be nicer to Zuko. Her uncle was kind to her when he was patronizing her –  _she would never like dolls, so her uncle really shouldn't have tried to shove it down her throat_. The only exceptions to that rule were her father and Lu Ten. The latter genuinely  _liked_  her, and as for her father…well, it wasn't his job to be nice to her. He was a mentor who she would respect until the day she died.

Zuko, however, was another story.

As much as she didn't like to admit it, there was a time – probably no more than the first three years of her life – in which she didn't  _entirely_  hate her brother. She  _may_  actually recall a time when she would hide under her brother's covers during a thunderstorm or want to be just like him when she got older, but those times were long gone, now that she knew what a coward he was.

So, why should she care  _now_  that he was petrified?

If anything, this was karma for how weak he'd been for the majority, if not all, of his life. Maybe, just maybe, it would help him to…

"Toughen up," Azula explained to Harry in light of the news that her brother was in the hospital wing. "It'll teach him to toughen up if anything."

At Harry's scandalized face, Azula chuckled at her own pun. Perhaps, her brother, by being turned to stone, would have no choice but to  _literally_  toughen up. Wiping a tear away from her eye, she returned to her breakfast. Her croissants almost finished, she moved on to finishing her orange juice. Honestly, where did Harry get the idea that she cared about what happened to Zuko?

"But he's your  _brother_." Harry protested, seating himself on her other side. "Surely you must care, even if it's a little bit."

Azula scoffed and noted that throughout the whole ordeal, Draco had remained silent. It was unlike the blond not to get himself involved when it came to the Gryffindor golden boy. Judging by the contemplative look on his face, she figured he was biding his time. She decided to look around the Great Hall, searching for something to take her mind off of the questioning boy next to her. Her eyes fixated on one of the ceiling's many chandeliers. Filled to the brim with lit candles, she wondered how it would look if the orange flames were  _blue_  instead.

Her left eye twitching slightly, she suddenly moved her arm to her left, capturing Harry's hand en route to her shoulder without even sparing the Gryffindor a glance. She knew without looking at him that he was stunned by her reflexes. What did he expect? She was a child of  _Ozai_  and unlike Zuko, she knew how to put her training to good use.

"Listen and listen carefully to me." Azula said calmly, still training her eyes on the chandelier, which by now hosted blue flames, "You will cease your interrogation of me this instant. It is none of your business whether or not I visit my traitorous brother, understood?"

Harry didn't answer her for a moment and her patience grew thin. Warming her hand, she raised the temperature of her extremities until the Gryffindor was forced to wiggle out of her grasp in fear of being burnt. It was only then that Azula turned to face him, cocking a brow.

"I  _said_ , is that understood?" Azula repeated.

Harry stared at her for a while, eyes narrowed. He was obviously searching for something within her eyes but if left to her alone, he would never find it. Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair, finally standing up.

"I don't know why I bother sometimes." Were the only words he said before leaving the Great Hall, not bothering to spare her another glance.

She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, returning her gaze to the chandeliers on the ceiling. With Harry gone, there was nothing keeping her in an annoyed state. Her newfound tranquility was reflected in the now orange candlelight, no longer the menacing blue they'd been when the Gryffindor boy was there. She didn't even realize that Draco still hadn't said a word until he broke his silence.

"Did you mean what you said?" His voice was so soft that Azula almost thought she'd imagined it.

She turned to face him, brow raised in questioning. She didn't know what part of the conversation he was referring to, but he was quick to clarify.

"Do you really mean to say that you're not going to visit him?" Draco asked. His face would've been completely unreadable if not for the splash of hesitation and concern in his gray eyes. Azula almost laughed at the look until she realized that her friend was being serious.

"Don't tell me you're  _sympathetic_." Azula rolled her eyes, aimlessly running her finger along the rim of her cup. Its cool texture was calming to her, despite her being a firebender, "What happened to the "all Gryffindors must burn" boy I met?"

Draco sniffed in disgust, shaking his head vigorously as he leveled her with a glare. Having been used to his looks of displeasure, Azula didn't flinch, merely returning the look with a raised eyebrow.

"Imagine if someone you once cared for became a traitor." Azula mused, leaning closer to the blond. "Every Slytherin here is so focused on blood purity, so imagine if one of your relatives became a blood traitor. Would maintaining support for them do you any good, or would you just become a traitor yourself?"

She didn't wait for Draco's answer, standing up and brushing off her skirt. She looked back down at her fellow classmate, taking in the look of deep thought on his face. Had this been five or six years ago, maybe her perspective would've been different, but a lot had happened since her youth. Whereas she was once carefree and full of love, she now understood that life had no patience for sentimental people.

Head held high, she walked out of the Great Hall. She didn't know where she was going, but anywhere was better than there at the moment.

* * *

Draco wasn't surprised when he didn't see Azula for the rest of the day. He couldn't imagine how many things the Firinian girl had on her mind. Her brother. The mystery of the journal. The strange dreams she'd been having. All in all, he knew that he wouldn't have been able to cope as well with everything she was going through.

He didn't bother going to dinner that evening, instead choosing to go to the kitchens for a quick snack. He took in the darkness of the hallways as he made his way to the kitchens. It made the candlelight all around him seem to burn even brighter. While the lights in the darkness usually made him feel a sense of security, with all that had been happening at Hogwarts recently, he couldn't help but feel uneasy with them around.

Lights provided guidance, this was true, but they also made it easier to find others. He wasn't so sure if he wanted to be found right now. Azula's words from earlier had been lingering in his mind all day, playing over and over in a monotonous loop.

_Imagine if someone you cared once for became a blood traitor. Would maintaining support for them do you any good, or would you just become a traitor yourself?_

Truth be told, he had never considered any of his relatives becoming blood traitors. It just didn't seem possible to him. His father had drilled into him the importance of being a respectable pureblood. His mother, while not as ardent, didn't disagree with him. Even the friends he'd surrounded himself over the years shared the same ideals. All except Astoria, that is. While the younger Greengrass sister had done her family and all purebloods proud by getting into Slytherin, he wasn't so sure that her ambitions were in the same place. She made it no secret that she didn't care for the blood mania that most Slytherins thrived on, and he was almost sure that he'd seen her fondly talking to muggleborn Colin Creevey sometime before his petrification. The notion brought an unpleasant question to mind.

_Would he be able to abandon Astoria over their potential difference in ideals?_

She was like a sister to him – annoying, yes, but a sister nonetheless. They had practically been raised together, and she was the closest friend he'd ever had. Even closer than Blaise, who he'd known for almost as long. He couldn't imagine  _not_  being friends with the girl but at the same time, when purebloods eventually seized full power of the wizarding world, would she stand with them or fight for those of lesser blood?

He didn't want to think of Astoria being a traitor. The idea just seemed too ridiculous to have any truth to it, but Azula's words had really got him thinking. He didn't want to entertain the thought any longer.

Just because Zuko was a traitor didn't mean Astoria would turn out to be one. He was certain of it. At least, that's what he had to tell himself to keep himself sane.

* * *

_Azula knew that she was dreaming, if only because that stupid, yet familiar, figure from her previous dreams was present. The one donned in Firinian robes with a mask covering a face that she was certain she'd recognize if need be. Unlike her other dreams, the two of them weren't in a vast meadow. Rather, they now occupied the roof of the Firinian palace. She recalled hiding up there as a young child anytime the pressures of being her father's favorite got to her, but it had been a long time since she'd felt the need to visit there._

_Ignoring the figure for a second, she instead turned her attention to the view that the rooftop provided her. The orange hue of the sky captivated her, signaling the arrival of sunset. She had always admired the beauty of Firinian sunsets, the one constant from the time she was a child to the present moment. Sometimes, she would go up to the rooftop with Lu Ten, just basking in the view in silence. Her cousin always knew when she was ready to talk, and it was one of the many qualities about him that she'd missed since he died._

" _It's beautiful, isn't it?" The figure's voice finally addressed her. She didn't hear when he had moved to be next to her, but his voice was close enough now for her to come to that conclusion. "That's one thing that no other country can take away from the Fire Nation. We always had the most spectacular sunsets."_

 _Azula didn't bother to comment on the "we" part of what he'd said. She knew that no matter how much she questioned him, he wouldn't reveal his identity – not until he was ready. Had she been any younger or less wise, she would've demanded answers from him. Raged until she got her way. Now, however, she realized it was better – more_ **_mature_ ** _– for her to save her strength._

" _You're right." she murmured softly, unwilling to let her voice take away from the serene nature of the ambiance. "And you're here for a reason, yes? You never come for a friendly chat."_

_The words "I used to" came from the figure, but she didn't think the words were meant for her ears. Still, the figure didn't move from his position next to her. In her opinion, the silence that dawned on them both was almost peaceful, almost one of comradery as they watched the sun continue its descent from the sky. A slight chill came over her, but she was knowledgeable enough about the Fire Nation's climate to know that the sudden draft wasn't an impossibility._

" _I figured I'd show you something." The figure calmly stated, voice equally as soft. "It has come to my understanding that your brother has met a troubling circumstance."_

_Azula huffed, more so out of disbelief than true annoyance. First Harry, and now this figure thought he had the right to tell her how to react? When would people understand that she couldn't care less if Zuko suffered?_

" _I'm not trying to insinuate anything." The figure's nonchalance remained, as if he'd heard her thoughts. Azula couldn't even find it in herself to be frightened about how well this stranger seemed to know her. "I merely interrupt your sleep to remind you of where you came from."_

" _Where I came from?" Azula frowned. "You don't have to remind me of my origins. I am Princess Azula. Crown princess of the Fire Nation and daughter of Fire Lord Ozai. Ancestor of Fire Lord Sozin and recipient of Agni's blessings. What more do I need to remember?"_

_The figure was silent, but she could just tell that he was frowning. There was a certain air about him – perhaps the stiffened shoulders – that gave away his apparent disappointment. The chill that ran up Azula's spine this time had nothing to do with the evening air. With a raise of his hand, the scenery in front of them changed. No longer were they on the roof of the Firinian palace, but at a park in downtown Caldera._

" _Why did you bring us here?" Was the only thing she could think to ask. She could see young children – no more than four or five – running around, shrieking in evident joy. The sun was shining brightly, as it often did in the Fire Nation, and with the light around the park, an unwelcome sense of nostalgia came. She couldn't shake the feeling that whatever she was about to see pertained exclusively to her._

" _Just watch." The figure gestured to a set of swings not too far from them._

_Finding no use in arguing, Azula sighed, resigned to being a victim of both the figure and her own dreams. For a while, she said nothing, merely bearing witness to childish frolic in a scene that she didn't care for. Based on the sun's position in the sky, she deduced that the scene was taking place during mid-spring. Her guess was proven right by the casual clothes worn by the children – not scanty enough for the temperature to be blistering, but not burdening enough for the air to be chilly. She found no point in watching children play, and was just about to tell the figure that when two more figures caught her eye._

_One was a boy and the other a girl. That much was obvious to her by the style of top-knot each wore. Just as the other children, they donned red Firinian robes. She couldn't make out their faces, just the fact that they were no older than five and seven respectively._

" _Let's play on the swings, 'Zula." With the boy's use of a name that so few people in her life called her, Azula knew immediately who these two children were._

_The girl in question shook her head, pulling her hand out of the boy's grasp._

" _I don't wanna, Zuzu." A younger version of Azula said despondently. She was shuffling her feet in the grass, her nervous tick, and present-day Azula cringed at the sight. She hadn't remembered how timid she'd been as a child. All of that had been overshadowed by her eventual firebending prowess. "I don't deserve to."_

_Younger Zuko frowned, placing both hands on his sister's shoulders. Present-day Azula wanted to yell at him to get his filthy traitor hands off of her, but somehow, she knew that her voice couldn't be heard. Not in this dream._

" _What did dad say this time?" Younger Zuko asked her patiently. He didn't force his sister to answer, merely waiting for her to open up when she was ready. In turn, his sister didn't meet his eyes. It amazed present-day Azula that none of the other children in the park had stopped to confront the two royals. Were they really so self-absorbed as to completely ignore their future rulers?_

" _Nothing bad." Younger Azula's voice was hardly more than a whisper, her sadness evident in the way she couldn't bring herself to look away from the ground. "I'm just not good enough. That's all. I couldn't do the new firebending move he wanted me to and he said I'm a failure."_

_Younger Zuko's eyes immediately lit up with anger, his jaw set tightly as he lifted his sister's face, making her maintain eye contact with him. Once he was certain he had her attention, his grimace turned into a small smile._

" _You were the one born lucky, remember?" Though he phrased it as a question, present-day Azula knew it was rhetorical._

" _I don't_ ** _feel_** _lucky." Younger Azula was quick to retort, eyes welling up with bitter tears._

_Present-day Azula had had enough. She refused to bear witness to her younger self acting in a manner that was so beneath her. She whirled around to face the figure that had brought her to that memory. The rest of the children in the background were a blur, her focus solely on the figure._

" _I demand to be taken back now." Azula hissed, eyes narrowed in fury. "How_ ** _dare_** _you –"_

" _Would you rather I show you all the times your brother took you in at night during a thunderstorm?" The figure interrupted her sharply, not giving her a chance to finish her accusation. "Or how about the first time your mother wished you were as good of a child as your brother, and Zuko was the one to tell her it wasn't right. Or how about the first time your father hit you and –"_

" ** _Enough_** _already!" Azula exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air. She didn't want to hear any more about all the so-called good things her brother had done for her. It made her feel vulnerable, and while she couldn't grasp exactly why that was, she knew that she didn't like the feeling. "What do you expect me to do about it, huh?" She was too impatient to wait for the figure's response before yelling, "Answer me!"_

 _As expected, the figure didn't say anything for the longest while. He merely stared in her direction, and she only felt the anger in her increase. She desperately wanted to lash out and hit – no,_ **_burn_ ** _– something, but knew already that any attempt to firebend in this realm would be for naught._

She didn't realize that she had been abruptly kicked out of her own dream until she felt the woolen covers around her. She moved her hands around them, taken aback by how quickly she had awoken from her dream. She was almost convinced that she had just been imagining things, but the traitorously swift pace of her heart didn't allow her to indulge in that illusion.

The room around her was still bathed in black, letting her know that she had fallen asleep early enough for it to only be around midnight at best. She knew she wouldn't be able to hear any birds chirping even  _if_  it was morning time – the Slytherin dungeons  _were_ under the lake, after all.

The dream still at the forefront of her mind, she swung her feet over the edge of her bed, sitting up properly. A quick look at the clock next to her bed told her that it was just after one in the morning. Running a hand through her hair, she sighed. It was obvious –  _too obvious_ – that the figure in her dream had been trying to guilt trip her into visiting her brother. It was underhanded and cunning – how  _Slytherin_  of him.

What made it despicable for her was the fact that he'd been successful.

* * *

It wasn't often than Malia di Angelo cried. Growing up with only a strict mother for guidance, she had been taught from very early that emotions were for those who weren't pureblood. She was to repress all of her emotions, put on a pretty smile, and become a good little wife for Marcus Flint when the time was right. She had managed to do so perfectly for fifteen years – she was a proper role model for her younger cousin, Blaise, who also grew up without a stable father figure; she sneered at those who were lesser than her; she listened to everything her mother told her without question.

That was until she met Emilie Lacroix.

The infuriating Hufflepuff girl had spent their first five years at Hogwarts trying to be her friend, seeing something within her that no one ever took the time to. Her  _tenderness_. Somehow, their relationship had gone from occasionally greeting one another between classes to passionately snogging in darkened broom closets to eventually the two of them being girlfriends. Of course, their relationship had to be kept secret, at least from Malia's fellow Slytherins. As a pureblooded Slytherin, maintaining relations with anyone of a lesser blood status was practically treason, never mind the fact that Emilie was a Hufflepuff  _and_  a female. The second problem came from the fact that her  _wonderful_  mother had deemed it necessary to betroth her to the barbaric Marcus Flint, a Slytherin in her year who'd done nothing but make her life hell since he'd been made aware of the arrangement. Needless to say, Malia, if for her own sanity more than anything else,  _needed_  to keep her relationship with Emilie secret. Her girlfriend (and surprisingly, her Hufflepuff friends) had been quite understanding, but Malia knew Emilie well enough to know that she was unhappy with the situation.

All of Malia's thoughts of secrecy flew out of her head as soon as she realized that Emilie had been one of the petrification victims. An overwhelming sense of guilt engulfed her when she recalled that the night she had been petrified. They had been on one of their midnight rendezvous sessions. If she didn't have so much pride, there would've been no need for them to be sneaking around, and hence, Emilie's petrification would've been completely avoided.

She sat in the hospital wing, as she had made a habit of doing during all her free time, holding one of Emilie's stone-cold hands in her own. She could see her girlfriend's wide, terror-struck eyes, and felt her heart break even further. Madame Pomfrey had already retreated to her office, her suspicion at seeing a Slytherin visit a Hufflepuff long abated. The mid-afternoon sun trickled in through the nearby windows, a slight draft filling the air with typical wintry vigor. Still, the weather changes meant nothing to her if she couldn't see her girlfriend full of motion again.

"It's my fault you're like this." She started by blaming herself, unable to see how she wasn't responsible for her girlfriend's ailment. "If I hadn't been so damn afraid of my mother, you wouldn't have needed to sneak back to your common room that night."

She caressed her girlfriend's stony face tenderly, feeling guiltier by the second as she was met with a vacant, lifeless expression. She could almost hear her girlfriend scoff at her words, imagining what her response probably would've been.

" _You're a romantic at heart, Mali_." Emilie would've said, heartful brown eyes shining in amusement. " _With all the candlelit dinners you love having in Hogsmeade, we'd probably have good reason to be sneaking back after hours_."

Malia let an involuntary smile grace her lips at the thought. Emilie always knew how to make her feel better, even without words. For a moment, she was almost able to forget about her predicament until she remembered the chilling cold of the hard hands within her own. Taking another glance at the petrified girl's face, she was once again reminded of the consequences of her own stubbornness. People at Hogwarts generally thought her aloof – condescending, with no feelings – but even  _she_  had her moments of vulnerability.

"I  _will_  find the cure for you, Emmie," Malia whispered, pressing the softest of kisses upon her petrified girlfriend's lips. "And then I promise you, on my honor, we won't have to hide anymore."

She rested her head on her girlfriend's stomach, feeling the need to be close to her, and at the same reminded of the fact that she needed to be stronger for them both. Tears burned behind her now closed eyelids but with the little haughty pride she had left, she refused to let them fall. A slight shuffling noise coming from somewhere next to her made her sit up straight in her chair, roughly brushing away any trace that she'd been about to cry. She remained silent, listening for any sign that someone else was in the hospital wing with her. Upon hearing nothing, she relaxed once more, believing that she was hearing things in her grief. It was only when the curtains surrounding Emilie's bed rustled that Malia knew she wasn't the only visitor in the hospital wing.

Standing up as quietly as she could, she moved over to the disturbed curtains, peering around them so she could see the source of the voice. Near one of the beds, a raven-haired girl was standing. Her back was straight and posture stiff, but it was the familiar golden headpiece that let Malia know that she was staring at Azula Ryland.

The younger Slytherin girl had always been something of an enigma to her. Her academic drive was admirable for only a second-year, and she was a hell of a beater for Slytherin's quidditch team. Still, Malia had more experience with the girl's brother, if only because of the amount of trouble he was always finding himself in, courtesy of being friends with the Weasley twins. She had always wondered that if, like her brother, there was some darkness brewing under the Firinian princess' surface, something that she was reluctant to let others see.

' _She certainly wouldn't be the first person to keep up a façade in public_ ,' she thought bitterly.

"You've always been an idiot, Zuko." She heard Azula murmur suddenly. She noticed that the second-year never made herself comfortable, choosing to stand formally at her brother's bedside. "You're not even a muggleborn, so I don't understand –"

The younger Slytherin let out a sigh of frustration, mumbling a few words to herself that Malia couldn't hear. She hadn't realized that she was gripping the curtains tightly until she heard the slight creaking of the curtain pins. She stiffened, waiting for the inevitable moment that Azula would turn around and spot her. To her surprise, she remained facing her brother, and Malia let out a quiet breath.

"I'm going to figure out why this happened," Azula could be heard saying, "but it's not because of you."

Azula turned on her heel, moving to walk out of the hospital wing before stopping abruptly. She didn't turn around, but her next words were tinged with amusement.

"Goodbye, Malia."

With that, Azula made her way out of the hospital wing, leaving Malia in a stunned silence.

* * *

_Azula wasn't all that surprised to see the mysterious robed figure waiting for her in her dreams. Just like her earlier dream, it began on the rooftop of the Firinian palace, overlooking a gorgeous sunset that had just begun. The figure, at the edge of the rooftop, had his back faced to her, but she got the feeling that he was smiling nonetheless._

" _Don't even say it." She bit out before the figure could utter a single word, frowning in anticipation. "I don't want to hear it."_

" _I see that you've visited your brother." There was even amusement in the figure's tone, despite the fact that he still hadn't turned to face her. "I knew you would."_

_Azula knew that arguing with him was futile, so instead, she let a wry smile come to her lips. She wasn't pleased with proving the figure right, but even she knew when she had been bested. She walked to stand next to him, taking in the sunset in silence. Though the sun had almost finished descending for the day, it still burned bright, as was characteristic of any Firinian sunlight. She couldn't help but take pride in her country, even for something as simple as the upcoming night._

" _I'm proud of you, you know." The figure murmured quietly, resting a hand on her shoulder. Though she couldn't feel the gesture, as her dreams never had a physically engaging quality to them, she reluctantly appreciated it nonetheless._

_After all, when was the last time anyone had told her they were proud of her?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4/9/18: Story is not abandoned. I just haven't had much time to work on it between college and two jobs, especially since finals are coming up. Updates should still occur weekly, but not on a strict schedule like before. Thanks for understanding, and a new chapter should be up later this week.


	25. A Prefect's Offer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the two-week delay. College has been really hectic, and I haven't found much time to write. I'm getting a better grip on it now, so the next chapter shouldn't take so long to be posted.

There were few times in Draco's life during which he could say he was fooled. He was all too aware of human nature and knew that there was nothing that fellow wizards were above when it came to manipulating others for their own gain. Still, he couldn't help but be tricked when "Crabbe" and "Goyle" approached him near the Slytherin common room sometime after the Christmas holiday, inquiring about the Chamber of Secrets.

"It's a real shame what's been going on in this castle as of late." Draco found himself telling the two one afternoon, about an hour or so before his next class. "To think that people really believe that purebloods should fraternize with those of lesser blood. It's horrifying, honestly."

The silence that followed his words startled him. Usually, Crabbe and Goyle would grin dumbly, agreeing with his every statement. Crabbe would probably sneer and say something almost witty, while Goyle would crack his knuckles in a manner he probably thought intimidating, denoting his disgust with the mixing of the blood statuses.

Now, however, the unintelligent duo said nothing. Their silence echoed off of the walls of the corridor around them, somehow making the candlelight almost menacing. Draco wasn't unnerved, per se, but he couldn't for the life of him understand why the two were practically glaring at him. He brushed it off as them having a bad day, continuing to walk towards the common room.

He hadn't seen Azula  _or_  Astoria all day. The Firinian princess had taken to disappearing randomly throughout the day, her only explanation being a muttered excuse about  _Agni-forsaken dreams_. Astoria, on the other hand, had only smiled cheekily at him when he questioned her about her absence, insisting that she was trying to enjoy her first year at Hogwarts without the stress of all this petrification stuff.

He made a mental note to be very,  _very_  wary of what she meant by  _enjoying_. He'd been on the end of one too many pranks and knew that his younger friend wouldn't hesitate to bring her prankster nature to Hogwarts.

Without really thinking about it, he murmured the password to the common room, stepping inside swiftly with Crabbe and Goyle on his heels before the portrait closed once more. He made his way over to one of the couches, sitting down in it without a second thought. Crabbe and Goyle immediately followed suit. Draco had barely managed to close his eyes before his rest was interrupted by a question from Goyle.

"What do you reckon's been going on?" Goyle asked him, the suddenness of the question forcing Draco's eyes back open. The blond stared at his dimwitted acquaintance, waiting for him to continue. "With the petrification and Slytherin's heir, I mean."

Draco stared at Goyle for a good while, trying to understand the meaning behind the question. Usually, when things went awry at Hogwarts, the last person he'd ever suspect to care was  _Goyle_. The idiotic Slytherin usually spent his time trying to impress Draco and Crabbe, or talk to Millicent Bulstrode, but never before had he been so  _concerned_  about strange occurrences within the castle. Pushing that thought to the back of his mind, he answered his classmate's question.

"Not sure." Draco shrugged, his eyes rolling slightly with his next words. "I've heard that Potter's the Heir of Slytherin. He can talk to snakes after all. Wouldn't surprise me honestly."

In response to Draco's words, Crabbe's brows furrowed.

"Har – I mean, Potter couldn't be Slytherin's heir." Crabbe frowned, his tone incredulous. "Ryland –  _Azula_ could speak to snakes as well. You can't forget that."

Eyes narrowed, Draco took Crabbe's words into consideration. While it  _was_ true that Azula also possessed the ability to converse with snakes, he got the feeling that he shouldn't be confirming whatever Crabbe was trying to get at. A mental image of the Firinian girl's strange diary came to mind, but he pushed it back. There was no  _way_  he was getting Crabbe and Goyle involved in that. Despite their dimwitted nature, he felt that the two of him were suspicious of something, and it wouldn't be in his – or Azula's and Astoria's – best interest to let them in on his knowledge.

"True, but Potter's the one always getting himself involved in everything that goes wrong around here." Draco settled on, scoffing haughtily. " _He's_  the one that the Dark Lord was focused on all those years ago, so obviously he has some darkness to him."

Goyle's eyes widened almost comically, his mouth gaping like a fish out of water. He looked as if he wanted to say something to refute Draco's claim but ultimately decided to keep his mouth shut. Draco couldn't put his finger on it, but both Crabbe and Goyle were acting very strangely. Crabbe leaned towards him, voice lowering considerably as he spoke again.

"Do you reckon I…could be next?" If Crabbe weren't sitting right next to him, Draco would have a hard time believing that the question came from him.

He scoffed at the ridiculousness of the query. While Crabbe could be considered dumb on a  _good_  day, this was a new low, even for him. He leveled him with a scathing look, one that was certain to display his confusion and annoyance.

"You're a  _pureblood_ , Crabbe. Nothing's gonna happen to you." Draco frowned, his eyes intense as he sat up straighter in the chair. "Are you alright? You seem a bit different."

Crabbe opened his mouth, perhaps to defend himself, but was cut off by a female voice.

"That's because he  _is_  different." A familiar dry voice murmured quietly.

Draco looked up, and through the shadows of the common room, he was able to see a figure slowly becoming visible. It was as if she had been invisible before, though he wasn't sure exactly how she had done it.

"How long have you been there, Malia?" He got straight to the point. He knew that the older Slytherin wouldn't appreciate small talk, not even from him.

"Long enough to know that these aren't the real Crabbe and Goyle." Malia crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at the two boys sitting next to Draco.

He glanced at them, watching as their previously neutral expressions gave way to slight panic. Crabbe promptly started sweating, running his hands through his short hair frantically, while Goyle nervously swallowed. At first glance, it would seem as if the room had gotten warmer, but it was only the nerves of the two  _supposed_  Slytherins.

"What – what're you talking about, Malia?" Goyle stammered, dark eyes flickering rapidly in a short period of time.

Draco took a moment to really feel the atmosphere around him. There was no reason why Goyle ought to be sweating during mid-winter, especially not with the location of the Slytherin common room. The fireplace, despite crackling loudly, was nowhere near them, so his perspiration couldn't be blamed on the heat of the flames.

_Nope, definitely nerves – but why?_

"First of all,  _Gregory_ , you've never called me by first name in all the time you've known me." Malia arched a brow and, in that moment, she couldn't look more aristocratic. Draco found the expression almost enviable. "It's always been  _di Angelo_  or  _prefect lady_."

Draco pondered her words for a few seconds. He knew that the closer he got to Azula and Astoria was the further away he drifted from Crabbe and Goyle, but he still knew the idiots well enough to know that Malia had a point. A simple change in the way one addressed a person was no big deal, but with  _Goyle_  of all people, something serious ought to have happened to cause that change.

"He could've changed his ways."  _Crabbe_  came to  _Goyle's_  defense, but by now, Draco's suspicion had been raised as well.

Goyle would never speak so formally. Of that, Draco was absolutely certain. He'd also never be so  _polite_ , not even to a fellow Slytherin. Both of his classmates were acting strangely, and Draco couldn't understand what their problem was. As far as he knew, neither of them had sustained a head injury and even so, such an occurrence wouldn't increase their intelligence and courtesy. It just wasn't feasible, unless…

"Polyjuice potion." Draco breathed out suddenly, cutting off whatever Malia had been saying to the two boys while he was lost in thought. Chest puffed out and eyes squinted, he took a good look at the now guilty-looking boys. "Potter, Weasley, care to explain why you're really here?"

Now caught, the Gryffindor boys didn't even have the decency to look contrite. In fact, they looked like they wanted nothing more than to hex him and run. They probably would've had it not been for Malia's hand going swiftly to her wand, pointing it at the boys.

" _Don't_." It was only at Malia's single uttered word that Draco realized that Potter –  _or was it Weasley?_ The potion was really making it hard for him to distinguish between the two – had reached for his wand. " _Veritatem Revela_."

Almost immediately, large bumps appeared on both Potter's and Weasley's bodies. For a moment, Draco assumed that Malia had hexed them with boils but as the bumps started moving, that idea fled from his mind. Both boys cringed, doubling over in a way that suggested they were both in pain. He would've felt bad for them had they not been trying to deceive him. He chose to look at the ever-burning fireplace, ignoring the groans that his Gryffindor classmates were letting out. He only looked back when he heard Potter begin to speak.

"How'd you know?" The meaning behind his question was evident.  _How had Malia been able to tell that they were under the influence of polyjuice potion?_

"I'm taking  _advanced potions_ , Potter." Malia sneered, eyes glinting with disgust. "I'd be a fool not to notice the tell-tale signs of a potion taken straight out of  _Most Potente Potions_."

Draco found himself impressed with her skill. Advanced potions was a class he was looking forward to taking during his sixth year, but he didn't know the depth of knowledge that he'd gain from attending the class. The guilty, yet determined, look on Weasley's face was mirrored on Potter's to a lesser degree.

"I seem to recall your mother sending you a howler at the beginning of the year. What did she say again?" Malia tapped her chin in mock thought as she addressed Weasley now, the disgust in her eyes being replaced with cunning. "Something about dragging you out of Hogwarts if you stepped another foot out of line?"

Weasley looked like he wanted to say something in return, but Potter was quick to place a restraining hand on his friend's arm. Though the red-haired boy was still tense, his mouth remained shut. Draco could only hope that one day  _he'd_  have the ability to draw such a reaction out of the Gryffindors.

"Here's what's going to happen. Twenty points  _each_  from Gryffindor." Malia's voice never rose but the Gryffindor boys looked indignant nonetheless. "Any complaint and I'll make it  _thirty_ , understood?"

Potter and Weasley, who by now were glaring daggers at both Malia and Draco, stood up stiffly. Without so much as a backward glance at them, they stormed out of the common room to Merlin knows where. A sense of smugness came over Draco in light of their defeat, but it was short-lived. He looked up at Malia, who had remained standing throughout the situation. She raised an eyebrow in questioning at the look on his face.

"What?"

"The password." Draco clarified in a murmur, watching as realization spread across the older Slytherin's face. "They know the password now. What's stopping them from coming back?"

Malia brushed off his concerns with a wave, still standing.

"Leave that to me." She ordered, though not unkindly. "Your friend Azula is somehow connected to the attacks that have been going on around Hogwarts, yes?"

Draco could only blink at Malia's sudden change in topic. He didn't know how she had come to that conclusion and had the feeling that she wasn't going to enlighten him. He tried to look away from her piercing gaze but she gripped his jaw tightly in her hand, ensuring that eye contact was kept. She didn't seem to notice the fact that he hadn't responded to her.

"I want to know everything," Malia stated firmly, eyes flashing with an emotion Draco didn't think he wanted to know, "and you're going to entertain me."

There was no room for argument in her tone and if only because of his childhood loyalty to her, he didn't feel like arguing with her.

* * *

Azula absolutely did  _not_  intend on making this whole  _visiting Zuko_  thing a regular occurrence. Her intention had been to visit him the one time, see if he was dead, and carry on with her life the way she had been prior to the incident. As she sat in the chair next to her brother's bed in the hospital wing, drifting off to sleep despite her determination to stay awake, she questioned her motives.

She'd written a letter to her father detailing Zuko's ailment – hoping to gain some perspective – and she wasn't all that surprised at his uncaring reply.

' _Did you really waste parchment to tell me of something so irrelevant to the Fire Nation's glory?_ ' Her father had written in his letter. ' _I will overlook your misjudgment this one time. Do not let it happen again._ '

Once Azula had gotten over her initial fear at her father's response –  _sometimes, she had a hard time judging whether or not her father was truly angry with her, or just annoyed_  – she thought of her uncle's response. When she'd made the decision to write to her Uncle Iroh, she'd done so with the intention of gloating. She wanted him to know what it felt like to suffer, and what better way than to let him know about the fate of his  _beloved_  nephew? She recalled her words to him perfectly.

_Uncle Iroh,_

_It gives me great pleasure to inform you that your precious Zuzu has been attacked. He is petrified, something to do with a creature that no one has been able to explain. There is currently no cure for him._

_Your future ruler,_

_Crown Princess Azula_

She kept the letter short and to the point. Her bluntness in the letter had made her proud, but the pride she felt was soon replaced with an unsettling feeling in her stomach when his reply to her came.

_Princess Azula,_

_I will visit as soon as I am able. I should be no more than three or four months. I will keep your brother in my prayers to Agni._

_Prince Iroh_

Somehow, his formality stung a bit.  _Of course_  he would be more concerned with Zuko than with her. She didn't exactly expect her uncle to show some concern over whether or not  _she_  would be the next victim, but to read between the lines and see how indifferent to her safety he was really spoke volumes to her. Despite what Lu Ten had always tried to convince her of, her uncle wasn't the jovial, loving man he claimed to be.

_With her mother? Yes._

_With Zuko and Lu Ten? Definitely._

_With Azula herself? Azula would probably be dead and buried before her uncle ever showed her a shred of consideration._

As much as she didn't like to let little things like these bother her, she couldn't help the bitterness she felt when her uncle's words played over and over in her head.  _She_  was the prodigal child.  _She_ was the one who sparked interest in foreign diplomats trying to barter with her grandfather Azulon and, when he passed on, her father. Yet, none of this mattered to him. His only concern, now that her mother was gone and his son was dead, was  _Zuko_.

Even more reason for Azula to resent her brother.

Still, as her eyes drooped closed, forehead resting involuntarily on the bed in front of her, she couldn't help but question  _why_  it was that she wasn't good enough for the people in her family. The quietness of the hospital wing didn't help, only allowing her to despair in her thoughts without interruption. She couldn't hear anyone shuffling through the halls outside of the hospital wing but knew that it was getting pretty late. She should probably be going soon. Her eyes, however, had other ideas. Perhaps, she could just rest her eyes for a moment. Madame Pomfrey would wake her when visiting hours were over, and everything would be…

She wasn't tired enough to completely ignore the touch that suddenly landed on her shoulder. Before the person could move their hand away, she grabbed their wrist in her grip, forcing herself to sit up despite her tired state. By then, the lighting in the hospital wing had dimmed considerably, but not enough that she couldn't see who was touching her.

"I –" For reasons unknown even to  _her_ , Azula couldn't come up with an explanation to tell Draco, one that would make visiting the brother she loathed sound perfectly reasonable. Luckily for her, he cut her off.

"We need to talk." Draco said quietly, probably to avoid Madam Pomfrey's unintentional eavesdropping. "You, me, Astoria, and Malia."

At the mention of the elder Slytherin, Azula's eyebrows raised. She only then noticed that the Slytherin in question was standing a few feet away from Azula. She hadn't seen her since they had both been in the hospital wing – her visiting Zuko and Malia probably visiting her petrified girlfriend. Malia, though currently standing with her arms crossed protectively over her chest, wore a soft expression on her face. Her brown eyes were still guarded, but there was something about her demeanor that made her seem less haughty than usual. Maybe it was her loosened Slytherin tie, or the fact that her black hair was in a ponytail as opposed to its usual rigid bun. Whatever it was made her seem more approachable.

Perhaps, that's why she agreed to the discussion. There was a vulnerability to her that tugged at the space in her chest that she supposed housed her heart. The determination within the elder Slytherin's eyes reminded her of herself, and the vulnerability reminded her of the shell of the girl she used to be.

One who had perished when Lu Ten died.

Azula looked away from Draco and Malia towards her petrified brother. For the first time since she'd discovered his ailment, she took a few seconds to really observe his facial features. His eyes seemed to be narrowed, a contrast to his open mouth. His expression was almost scolding, a mix of annoyance and sneering. If she were being honest, his face was frozen in the expression he would often give  _her_.

That last thought gave her pause.

The girl in the dreams, hair always shielding her face from view. Always accompanied by a massive, and probably hideous, creature, skulking through the shadows of Hogwarts. Thinking back, the girl seemed to be wearing night robes half the time, and school robes the other time. No matter where she had journeyed throughout the night, she was sure to retreat to the Slytherin common room at the end of her travels.

Heart skipping a beat, she came to a sudden realization –  _she was the girl from her dreams_.

Somehow, someway, she had truly been possessed, perhaps by the journal. Draco and Astoria had mentioned it a few times in passing to her, but she had just assumed that they were being dramatic. Now, in light of observing her stony brother, she had no choice but to face the truth.

 _The journal had taken partial possession of her body_.

When she reflected on all the experiences she'd had with the journal since it first came into her hands, the one that stood out the most was the time in the Room of Requirement that she and her friends had tried to destroy the journal. Rather than succumbing to obliteration, it had emitted a ghoulish mist, invading Azula's body for a few breath-catching moments before dissipating.

Obviously, she wasn't  _fully_ possessed, though. She still had control over her thoughts. While she was awake, there was no voice in her head urging her to kill. No one making her body convulse wildly or do out of character things. It just so happened that when she went to sleep, she didn't know what she had done until she woke up the next morning and saw the consequences of her involuntary actions.

But still, just the thought that she was being possessed  _at all_  –

"Azula." Of course it was Draco's voice that disrupted her thoughts. He always seemed to know when her thoughts were becoming too complicated.

"Fine." Azula waved as nonchalantly as possible. She didn't want to see the concern that was certain to enter Draco's eyes at her noncommitted answer. Avoiding his gaze, she turned to face Malia. "You're a prefect. I assume you'll retrieve Astoria."

Azula didn't bother waiting for her answer, turning on her heel and exiting the hospital wing, leaving Draco, Malia, and a petrified Zuko behind. She could hear Draco hurrying after her but paid no attention to him.

She needed to rid herself of her troublesome thoughts, and the Room of Requirement was the perfect place to do so.

* * *

Maybe  _ambush_  was too strong of a word, Astoria thought to herself, but she couldn't come up with another word to describe what had just happened to her. She had been minding her own business, walking down the corridors of Hogwarts after her last evening class on her way to the Slytherin common room. It wasn't dark enough in the corridors for it to truly be considered night, but she could no longer see the sun filtering in through the windows. She expected that she'd be able to go back to the common room and study, but it seemed like fate had other ideas for her.

A hand gripped her arm, whirling her around and dragging her in the opposite direction. The hand's owner wasn't facing her, but she  _did_  seem familiar. Tall and slender. Curly black hair.

She couldn't be looking at anyone other than Malia di Angelo.

"Malia, what –" Astoria couldn't say more than that before the girl in question turned around, pointing her wand at her.

" _Muffliato_." Malia's tone was clipped, completely emotionless as she murmured the spell. She said nothing more before continuing to walk.

Astoria tried to talk, most likely to demand where she was being taken, but found that she was unable to. Using her free hand, as the other one was quite occupied, she grabbed at her throat. She tried humming but found that she couldn't even feel the vibration in her throat. She wasn't exactly sure what the effect of the  _Muffliato_  spell was, but she was beginning to have a pretty good idea. Reluctantly, she settled for glaring heartily at the older Slytherin, who wouldn't turn back to look at her.

"Don't give me that look." Malia snapped without turning around, her stride increasing to the point that Astoria almost had to jog to keep up. "This is for your own good."

So caught up in her current situation, Astoria didn't take note of the route that Malia was taking her through. She didn't notice how they were ascending various staircases. Took no time to observe the few students they encountered along the way – their silhouettes blending them into nameless and faceless Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. In fact, when Malia finally stopped pulling her around, she didn't even realize that they were standing in front of a blank wall, one that soon morphed into a door. In vain, she tried to pull her arm out of the Slytherin prefect's grasp but was only successful once the two of them were inside the room that had just been made available to them.

Spotting Azula and Draco calmly lounging on one of the many chairs in the room, she furiously stormed away from Malia and made her way towards her friends. She pointed to her throat before pointing accusatorily at Malia, repeating the gesture several times for maximum clarity. When her gesturing was only met with blank stares, she sighed – soundlessly, thanks to Malia.

_This was going to be a long evening._

* * *

"She  _kidnapped me_!" Astoria shrieked, the first words out of her mouth when Azula had so graciously unsilenced her with a mocking smirk. Her finger was still pointed at Malia, who looked unaffected.

The elder Slytherin shrugged, taking a seat across from Draco and Azula.

"I did what was necessary for you to come with me." Malia deadpanned, folding her hands neatly in front of her. "Time was of the essence, and explaining things to you would've taken too long.

Azula bit back a laugh at the incredulous look on her younger friend's face. Reddening cheeks. Mouth agape. Eyes wide. She didn't think she'd ever seen Astoria so worked up. Then again, the younger Slytherin had a flair for dramatics, so it was possible that she wasn't even truly upset. She bit her lip instead before realizing what a submissive gesture that was. Setting her mouth in a firm line, she addressed her fellow Slytherins.

"Now that we're all here, one of you," Azula pointed between Draco and Malia, "can explain exactly why this group meeting has been called. I don't appreciate being in the dark, and it's not as if we're all friends here."

Her later words were directed at Malia and if the Slytherin prefect felt offended, she didn't show it. An almost amused smirk tugged at the brown-eyed girl's lips, but the rest of her features remained impassive. A stray hair had fallen into the prefect's face and with what must have been a practiced ease, she tucked it behind her ear.

"Fair point." Malia mused aloud. "We may not be friends, but we share a common goal in that we want to get to the bottom of this petrification mess."

Azula took in Malia's formal posture. The way she was sitting with her back completely erect. The way her hands had never moved from their folded position. The way her eyes focused solely on her without any nervous fluttering. The room around them, having previously been lit by candles around them, now displayed an almost somber hue – the candles just barely lit. The air wasn't too humid, but it wasn't the freezing chill that the previous winter had brought. Something about the scenario reminded her of a war meeting in the Fire Nation. Whether it be the formality or the tense air, she didn't know, but she was suddenly very aware of what exactly Malia was aiming at.

"You want to work with us." Azula hadn't intended it to be a question, but Malia responded like it was nonetheless.

"Yes." Malia's voice was even, no trace of a tremor within it. "We can be useful to each other. The three of you obviously know something more about the attacks than you're letting on, and I know Hogwarts in and out."

At this, Astoria, who had been silent after her kidnapping allegation, scoffed. Her brows were knitted downward but despite the indignance written on her face, it was Draco who spoke up.

"So do we." And Azula was reluctantly impressed by the confidence in his tone. "You may have seniority here, but that doesn't mean we're novices."

If Azula were expecting Malia's face to show surprise, she would've been sorely disappointed. The elder Slytherin's facial features gave almost nothing away, though her lips twitched just the slightest. The tiniest of crinkles appeared near her eyes, letting the Firinian princess know that the older girl was faintly amused.

"Are you really going to deny the help of a prefect?" Malia's smug tone belied her amusement, and Azula had to admit –  _she had a good point_.

Having a prefect as an ally could come in handy for late night excursions around the castle. They wouldn't have to rely on the help of the Marauder's Map to sneak around, and they also would have excuses for being awake past curfew. All in all, having Malia's help could only be beneficial to them. She seemed sincere enough, in Azula's opinion, and her opinion had never led her astray before.

"Very well." Azula murmured calmly, extending her hand towards the prefect, who took it in stride. "Welcome to the group.

With her words out in the air, she could hear Astoria's shocked gasp and Draco's quiet hum, but she didn't focus on those reactions. Maybe she'd have to explain her logic later but for now, her friends would have to trust that she knew what she was doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (5/1/18): So, I’m gonna stop placing deadlines on myself, because this obviously isn’t working out T_T. My update schedule should be back to normal (once a week) by the end of this month. That should give me enough time to sort out college finals and work obligations. Sorry again, and thanks for the continued patience.


	26. Happy Valentine's Day (Or Not)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So after almost four months of not updating, here it is! At this point, I realize that due to a hectic (and unpredictable) college and work schedule, I can no longer hold myself to making deadlines. Sorry about that! Still, for those of you who continue to read this story, I am eternally grateful. Just know that this story has definitely not been forgotten and rest assured, I am always working on it. Without further ado, chapter 26.

Over the years, when a person wanted to get rid of an intrusive object, they found creative manners of doing so. Burning it in a brilliant fireworks display. Stomping on it in a show of petulance and frustration. Even sneaking it into the personal belongings of others in a way that made the unwitting victims believe that it was theirs to begin with. All of those ways of discarding things, to some degree, required a sense of critical thinking, a sense of  _purpose_.

Nonchalantly chucking a book into a random bathroom stall had to be the  _least_  discreet thing Draco had ever witnessed (and this was saying something – he had become well acquainted with Astoria's bluntness throughout their many years of friendship).

He supposed it started when he casually brought up the idea of getting rid of the cursed journal over breakfast. The day had started as it usually did – Draco sneering at Gryffindors from his position at the Slytherin table, Astoria rambling about something absolutely  _hilarious_  that Cressida Stamos (a first-year Ravenclaw) had done in her charms class the previous day, and Azula meticulously penning a letter to her father as she simultaneously (and one-handedly) consumed her breakfast. The loud chatters of all of the Great Hall's inhabitants could be heard – from a random Hufflepuff's squeal at having been asked out by a "dreamy" Gryffindor (Draco rolled his eyes at that) to Professor Trelawney's – the Divination instructor's – annoyed exclamation of " _no one ever takes me seriously until it's too late!_ " Unwilling to witness the senseless drivel for even a moment longer, he turned to Astoria, tuning into the last bit of her talk.

" – and she didn't even realize that her hair was pink until Peeves wouldn't shut up about it," Astoria chuckled, wiping away the lone tear that had escaped her eyes at some point during the conversation. "For a Ravenclaw, she's oddly – " Astoria cut herself off, leaning closer to Draco with her eyes narrowed. Pursing her lips, her next words came out tinged in blatant annoyance.

"You weren't even listening to me, were you?"

Her tone left no room for Draco to lie but being the Malfoy that he was, he attempted it anyway. Giving her a charming smile, he made an effort to placate her.

"Pink hair. Peeves being an arse," Draco shrugged, figuring that if he mentioned the last parts of the story, the first-year would be deluded into thinking that he'd been paying attention from the start. As he partially expected, the younger Slytherin was thoroughly unimpressed. " _Fine_ , I wasn't paying attention, okay?  _Happy_?"

Astoria's expression said otherwise, and when she opened her mouth – eyes blazing with the intent to tear him to shreds – he raised his hands slightly for defense.

"Instead of wasting time gossiping, there are a lot more important things in the world that we could be talking about," Draco frowned, his indignance more for show than anything. "Like Azula and her constant letter writing."

It was a weak argument – that much he knew – and the knowledge was further cemented when the girl in question didn't even glance away from her letter. Still, a brief frown appeared on her face.

"Don't bring me into the asinine justification of your ineffective and churlish attention skills," Azula's voice was monotonous. "If you  _must_  know, I am writing to my father to keep him abreast with my academic and social progress."

Her formal tone wasn't much of a surprise to him. Whenever her father was mentioned or alluded to, her whole demeanor changed. She became more uptight, for one, and wanted absolutely no distraction until she was finished with whatever update letter she was writing.

 _He_  understood this about her, but Astoria was still learning.

" _Social progress?_ " Astoria's previous irritation had been completely overshadowed by her newly present curiosity. "How do you even measure that?"

Sighing, Azula made a dramatic show of forcefully dropping her quill on the table in front of her. Draco was surprised that she had managed to avoid excess ink on her parchment with how carelessly she had flung her quill. The Firinian girl gave Astoria a wary glance.

"I had two friends back at the Academy," Azula said quietly with a calm that Draco hadn't realized she possessed. "I have two friends –  _you and Draco_  – here. I have neither gained nor lost any social acquaintances."

Draco blinked – once, twice, and then three times. He hadn't expected her to actually have a scale for measuring social progress but knowing how meticulous she was with every aspect of her life, he really shouldn't have been as stunned as he was. Something about it seemed so…

"You view your friendships as transactional," Astoria murmured, her tone colored with disbelief. "I can't believe – no, actually, I  _can_. Is your father the same way with his friends?"

At this, Azula's formality wavered a bit, a subtle grin appearing on her lips. She stretched her fingers for a few seconds before lifting her quill once more as she continued to write. For a moment, Draco thought Astoria's question would go unanswered but as it usually happened, Azula surprised him.

"I imagine he would be if he  _had_  friends."

Draco had barely a second to process her words before Astoria let out an ecstatic gasp, leaning over his lap to wrangle Azula into the most awkward-looking hug he'd ever seen. From across the Slytherin table, he could see Millicent Bulstrode giving him a weirded-out glance before returning to stroking the cat in her lap. He didn't know when she'd gotten a cat, but didn't care as he heard Azula make a sound of disgruntlement.

" _Be careful!_ " Azula hissed. "If you mess up my penmanship –"

"I  _knew_  you cared!" Astoria gushed, completely ignoring the discomfort of the girl in her embrace.

It wasn't until Astoria had said the words that the sentiment hit Draco.

Azula  _cared_.

Whether or not she viewed the relationship as transactional (which was probably just a front anyway), she valued his companionship in some way. He would never admit it to  _her_ , but he was glad.

Seeing the amused look on Astoria's face, as she had since assumed her initial seating position, he cleared his throat gruffly. The last thing he wanted was for her to mock him about the pleased smile that he was certain was on his face.

"Never mind that," Draco lowered his voice, his face becoming impassive. "Have we decided what we're going to do with the journal?"

It was an abrupt subject change – he knew- but a necessary one all the same. Forget the fact that he wanted to save face, but in the last few weeks, no mention of the journal was made, and he got the distinct feeling that despite it being blank, it could still pose a grave threat.

At the mention of the journal, Azula's eyes snapped up from her letter, quill dropping yet again. Faster than Draco could blink, the Firinian girl took out her wand, murmuring a spell under her breath that shrunk her letter to pocket-sized. She stood up abruptly, dusting herself off as she left the table. Draco traded a confused glance with Astoria before leaving the table himself. He didn't have to look behind him to know that the younger Slytherin was following him.

"Wait… _wait_ ," Draco huffed, having to increase his once leisurely gait to an almost hurried half-sprint. "Where are you going?"

Azula didn't answer him, the speed of her walking increasing so exponentially that he had a hard time understanding how she wasn't running. He took a quick glance behind him, only to see that Astoria was having a hard time keeping up. He followed Azula up a set of stairs, all but pushing past a mousy Ravenclaw in his year – he didn't bother to remember his name – on his way. The Firinian girl, never ceasing her swift pace, made a sharp turn once she'd exited the stairs, going in the direction of a girl's bathroom. Draco didn't hesitate to follow her, even with the knowledge that a prefect could've seen him and deducted points from Slytherin.

"What are you – " Draco could hardly get the words out before Azula reared her arm back, tossing the journal into one of the stalls.

He stared at her open-mouthed. Of all the possible ways to get rid of a journal, merely  _tossing_  it into a bathroom stall had to be the most ridiculous one he'd ever witnessed. Astoria, by then, had caught up to the pair, leaning against a wall in order to catch her breath.

"Remind me to join the quidditch team at some point while I'm at Hogwarts," Astoria panted, hand resting on her rapidly moving chest. "And while you're at it, remind me to get  _slower_  friends."

At the silence following her words, Astoria frowned, shifting her weight from her left foot to her right foot. She looked to Draco for an explanation, but the blond was stumped. He could only shrug and gesture wordlessly to Azula, who looked as if she couldn't care less about what she'd just done.

"Is someone going to explain to me –" Astoria's additional words were cut off by a loud splashing sound.

Looking down, Draco realized that the floors of the bathroom were now soaked, with some of the water seeping into his shoes. Cringing in disgust, he opened his mouth to complain before he, too, was cut off, this time by a shrill wail.

"Who threw  _a book_  at me?" The voice cried out, tone becoming more furious by the second. "Pick on poor Myrtle, why don't you? She's dead already, so it's not like she has  _feelings_."

Draco snorted as the silhouette of Moaning Myrtle became visible. Though this was his first time encountering her, he was well aware of her backstory. His mother had told him once about how as a sixth-year, she came across Myrtle when she wanted to wash the residue of one of Sirius Black's pranks from her hair. The bemoaning ghost had been casually flying around, complaining about how unfair her life – or rather,  _afterlife_  – had been when she came upon an unsuspecting Narcissa Black. Seeing something different in her than in other students, Myrtle refused to let Narcissa leave the bathroom until she told her the story of how she had been killed by a basilisk some thirty or forty years ago, the same creature thought to be petrifying the muggleborns of Hogwarts (and Zuko Ryland) today.

"I don't have time for this," Azula grumbled, turning on her heel and storming off, muttering something about  _unnecessary dramatics_ under her breath.

Draco took in his surroundings – a quickly flooding bathroom, his soaked shoes, and Astoria trying in vain to calm Myrtle down – before shaking his head, following Azula out of the bathroom. He, too, didn't need to deal with the eccentricities of an already dead girl. He ran after Azula, who – after her abrupt exit – hadn't bothered to wait for either him or Astoria.

"Of  _all_  the ways you could've possibly gotten rid of that journal," Draco frowned, "you throw it at  _Myrtle_?"

"She's dead anyway," Azula said casually, as if she were merely talking about the sun rising that morning. "Not as if she can feel it. Don't tell me you've suddenly grown a heart for a ghost."

Draco snorted.

"Of course not," he rolled his eyes at the mere suggestion. "I just think you could've been more, I don't know,  _discreet_."

"Well I didn't see you or Astoria come up with anything better," Azula stopped, turning around to face him with a challenging look on her face. "Besides, it's none of our concern anymore. My nightmares are as good as gone, and if anything, that proves that this whole  _possession_  garbage was temporary, no?"

There were many things that Draco could've said to her in that moment. He could've brought up how concerned Azula had seemed the moment she realized that she  _had_  been possessed. That she didn't think it was just temporary when she was aimlessly wandering the halls of Hogwarts, against her own will.

That the immediate absence of an object didn't erase its presence from the world.

Instead of saying any of those things, he sighed. It would be pointless to start an argument with someone as stubborn as her, especially this early in the morning.

"I have to go back to the common room," he settled on, taking great care to make sure his face didn't give away any of his concerns. "We have Lockhart after breakfast, and I forgot my notes in the dormitory."

* * *

As Azula would later realize the second she entered the  _defense_  classroom that morning, Draco didn't have to worry about his forgotten notes. The whole classroom was filled with bright pinks and reds, the colors so… _loud_  that it would've put Ty Lee and her obsession with the color pink to shame. Red paper hearts were plastered all around the classroom, and tiny creatures were in a cage near Lockhart's desk. The professor in question stood in the front of the room, his usual ignorant grin firmly in place amidst the confused mumblings of his second-year class of Gryffindors and Slytherins.

"What in Agni's name –" Azula started before Ronald Weasley's groan of  _bloody hell_  echoed throughout the classroom.

"Don't ever expect to hear me say this again," Draco sneered, "but Weasley's right. What the hell is this?"

Lockhart tutted in disapproval, though he remained at his position in the front of the room. A light brush could be felt against Azula's shoulder and upon further inspection, she realized that one of the paper hearts had fallen from the ceiling, making a new home of Azula's school robes. Scowling, the Firinian girl realized that it was just her luck that the adhesive put in place to keep the heart on the ceiling was too weak to do its proper job, but hearty enough to keep Azula from tugging it off of herself.

"Language, Mr. Malfoy," Lockhart shook his head, sandy bangs falling into his eyes with the action. "Can't have you desecrating this most sacred of days with profanity."

"What's so special about today?" Azula snapped, already having had enough of Lockhart's dramatics to last her a lifetime. "It's February 14th, 1993. Nothing special about that to me."

At the gasp Lockhart let out following her words, Azula figured that whatever sentiments her words had conveyed had offended the feeble man deeply. She didn't understand what she had said wrong, though. For once, she believed herself to be truly innocent. With the confused stares she was getting from a now silent class, she figured that she was missing something important, a feeling that she absolutely loathed.

"You mean you don't know?" Draco asked her quietly, gray eyes slightly wide.

"Well if someone would kindly  _enlighten_  me instead of standing around like frightened turtle ducks," Azula scowled and for the second time that day, she was cut off by Ronald.

"You don't know what  _Valentine's Day_  is?" he gawked, mouth wide open in a manner that did nothing for his already subpar intelligence. "Even  _Harry_  knows what that is, and he all but grew up under a rock."

"Thanks, Ron," Harry mumbled sarcastically, though his green eyes twinkled with some form of amusement.

Throughout all the surprise in the room, no one had the decency to do more than stare at her in blatant bemusement. By now, she'd gathered that Valentine's Day was some sort of holiday, but she still didn't understand why it was so important. Lockhart was staring at her in a mix of shock and pity, and she wanted nothing more than to wipe the look off of his face.

"I was originally going to recite the speech I'd written to thank you all for my almost fifty Valentine's Day letters," Lockhart began, slowly walking over to stand next to Azula, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Do  _not_  touch –" Azula hissed.

"But," Lockhart continued, as if Azula had never spoken, "I realize, now, the need for a more instructional day. I shall introduce you, Ms. Ryland, to the wondrous celebration known as Valentine's Day. Now class, please sit and take out a piece of parchment. We're going to do a little activity."

Brushing her shoulder off from where Lockhart had rested his hand, Azula made to comply with his request before his voice halted her.

"Not you, Ms. Ryland," Lockheart clarified. "This is an activity for the rest of the class. I just want you to sit there and bask in the magic."

That had to be the cheesiest thing Azula had ever heard, and she let a quiet snort escape her before propriety settled in. Who was she to argue if a professor was telling her that all she had to do for the class period was essentially relax? It's not as if she particularly liked this class – mostly due to the incompetent professor – so she really wasn't missing out on much. She figured that she'd get the rare pleasure of enjoying herself in this class.

As was usually the case with things like this,  _she was wrong_.

"Class, I want you each to write at least one thing that you admire about Ms. Ryland," Lockhart grinned, clasping his hands together merrily. "For today, you  _all_  will be her valentines."

Azula's eyes twitched, the first sign of her impending annoyance. She felt the blood rushing to her cheeks, but she was a far cry from being embarrassed. Lockhart simply  _couldn't_ be serious. Judging by the twinkling in his pale blue eyes, he was as serious as her father when he was scolding a Firinian general for his impudence.

"This is wholly unnecessary," Azula said amongst the hushed whispers of the class – and Draco's non-subtle snickering. "Shut  _up_ , Draco. As I was saying, I don't want mere simpletons to be my – what was it you called it? –  _valentines_. From the looks of it, this is a foolish tradition, and I refuse to have any part of it."

"Nonsense," Lockhart dismissed her refusal with a wave of his hand. " _Everyone_  loves Valentine's Day. It's the most magical time of year." Azula was unimpressed and upon seeing that, the idiotic professor tried another approach. "I'll grant you extra credit if you play along."

Pursing her lips, Azula mulled her options over. Her grade in this class was above average already, but there was nothing wrong with increasing the academic advantage she had over her classmates. With a heavy sigh, she nodded her assent, hoping that she didn't regret her decision.

"Beautiful!" Lockhart beamed. "Mr. Weasley, you can go first."

One look at Ronald told Azula that the red-haired boy wanted nothing more than to be swallowed into a dark hole at the suggestion. He looked as if he'd rather eat slugs than say something nice to Azula. She could kind of relate. There were a million other things that she'd rather be doing than listen to his half-hearted attempt at complimenting her.

"Why do I have to go fir –" Ronald was cut off by the firm shove Harry dealt his shoulder. " _Fine_. Erm, you're very…um…you're a true Slytherin."

Azula knew he didn't mean that in a positive light but rather than laboring on it, she nodded her head curtly.

"I know," she sneered. "You didn't have to tell me the obvious."

"Now, now. Be nice," Lockhart chided before turning to the rest of the class. "Who wants to go next?"

Hermione's hand shot up, and Azula was slightly surprised at that. She knew that the Gryffindor girl viewed her in somewhat of a favorable light – maybe even considered her a friend – but Azula herself didn't think that they were close enough to warrant such enthusiasm. At Lockhart's assenting nod, Hermione spoke up.

"I admire your intelligence," she said respectfully, "and how you're always able to keep your calm during difficult circumstances."

Without a doubt, she was referring to the  _Quirrell incident_  of last year. While she, Harry, and Ronald had displayed anxiety at some point during the whole ordeal, Azula had managed to keep a level head throughout, her presence proving vital to their success.

Either that, or she was referring to her superior academic prowess. Azula couldn't be too sure with her.

Lockhart seemed pleased with her response and awarded Gryffindor five points for it. The trend continued, Gryffindors and Slytherins alike mentioning things that they appreciated about Azula. She initially thought she'd appreciate the praise, but after the first five people, she grew tired of the charade.

Neville Longbottom had praised her strong character, which really just meant that she intimidated him.

Seamus Finnegan awkwardly mentioned something about her accent, and how he thought it amazing that she didn't hide her accent despite being surrounded by non-Firinian people. She didn't understand that praise as much, because why would she  _ever_  assimilate into a culture different from her own? She was Firinian and proud, and wouldn't be forgetting that any time soon.

Harry, remembering the summer they spent together, mentioned how good she was at pranking, and alluded to her having a sense of humor.

Goyle stupidly thanked her for not pushing him off the boat during their first year at Hogwarts.

Pansy Parkinson reluctantly praised Azula's flawless hair and she had to admit, it  _did_  give her great satisfaction to see the normally smug girl put in her place.

The cycle of compliments continued until it was just Draco left. The blond was the very last to pay her a compliment, and Azula didn't know if she wanted to hear anything from him.

"If I  _must_ ," Draco sighed dramatically as he turned to face her. "You're a great friend, and your eyes are very… _pretty_."

Azula snorted at how cheesy that sounded, and Draco sharing her sentiments, laughed alongside her. She knew that he pulled that compliment straight out of his backside – though she was certain that he truly meant the part about her being a good friend.

Unfortunately for the two of them, Lockhart didn't take it as a game. A stunned look crossed his face before sheer enthusiasm replaced it. An almost squeal left his lips as he clasped his hands together, looking as if he couldn't be any happier.

"Thirty points to Slytherin," he began, and though Azula didn't know what the points were for, she wasn't going to complain – that is, until the professor fully explained himself, "for that absolutely  _darling_  display of  _amore_."

The Firinian girl froze, features stiffening almost immediately. She  _had_  to be hearing wrong. Though admitting she was wrong wasn't a strong suit of hers, she would make the exception this one time if only to maintain her composure. There was no was –  _no way_ \- that something so jesting could be taken so amorously.

"You can't be serious," Draco scowled over the sudden hearty laughs of the Gryffindors and uneasy shuffling of the Slytherins. He looked as if he wanted to say more but couldn't muster the words. Azula couldn't blame him. She was in a similar predicament, and it was only through purposeful deep breaths that she refrained from setting one of her Gryffindors classmates ablaze.

Perhaps Neville Longbottom would be the first to go. It always gave her great satisfaction to make the timid even more so.

"But of course. How did I not notice it before?" Lockhart shook his head, seemingly lost in partial self-deprecation. "The snarky comments. The odd humor. The passion-filled stares all year. It's so  _obvious_."

"Of all of the bullshi –" Draco started, but was immediately cut off by the sound of a desk flying halfway across the classroom.

Azula hadn't even registered that  _she_ had been to one to throw the desk until all eyes were on her. Her face remained calm – of that, she was confident – but her hands were clenched tightly. Had she not been as annoyed as she was, she would've been disappointed in herself at the utter loss of self-control that she had just displayed but in the moment, she couldn't care less.

"That is  _enough_ ," Azula sneered. "I will not stand here a moment longer and listen to your senseless drivel and romanticism. Quite frankly, it's degrading, so I'll be taking my extra credit and leaving."

She was taken aback by the level of hostility in her tone, and how much she suddenly craved her professor's blood. Never before had such a bloodlust engulfed her and honestly, she didn't know what to make of it. She was aggressive by nature – she knew this – but this was something else entirely.

Without another word, she gathered her belongings, ignoring the stares she was getting and left the classroom. She didn't care that she still had almost a full hour left in class.

Truth be told, all she cared about was getting as far away from Professor Lockhart as she could before she could find out what her anger was capable of.

* * *

" – and she went full on  _mafioso_." Blaise exaggerated to his cousin, Malia, in the confines of the Slytherin common room. "I don't think I've ever seen her so angry."

The elder Slytherin had been quietly lounging on one of the common room's couches, staring into the fireplace. The flames did nothing to calm the nerves she was battling internally. It had been a while since she had joined forces with her younger cousin's classmates in order to solve the mystery of petrification around Hogwarts, and they had been getting nowhere. The more time passed, the less hope she had for finding a cure for Emilie. That thought in itself was depressing, even more so than the thought that at the end of the year, she'd be forced to marry Marcus Flint.

"Are you even listening to me, Mali?" Blaise nudged her, and she was brought out of her thoughts.

Malia snapped her gaze away from the fireplace and towards her cousin's identical brown eyes. In them, she saw the youth that she once prided herself on having. The hints of optimism and hope for the future. She couldn't help but involuntary resent his freedom a little. He had a mother who loved him,  _unconditionally_ , and would do anything to secure his happiness.

The only time she could say the same was during the five short years she had with her father before his passing.

"If you're going to bother me with such trivial matters," Malia frowned, "I'd rather you not speak to me at the moment."

Blaise's eyes flickered with hurt and before Malia could say anything to rectify the situation, the younger Slytherin leaned closer to her, lips pursed. His soft, boyish features seemed sharper with his ire, and she knew without words that whatever point he was about to make would pierce her deeply.

"I know you're  _scared_  about all that's going on, Malia.  _All_  of it, including what happened to your girlfriend," Blaise spat out, his words causing Malia to flinch. How well he could read her frightened her at times. "But that doesn't give you the right to take it out on the people who still love you. Who are still  _there_."

"What are you talking –"

" _Everyone_ knows about the two of you," Blaise rolled his eyes, though not unkindly. "I'd wager that even Flint knows. What bothers me the most about it the fact that I had to find out through rumors instead of my own  _cugina_."

Malia sighed, running a hand through her hair as she put some space between herself and Blaise. If she were being honest, she shouldn't have been so surprised that Blaise knew. Even if the younger Slytherin wasn't the most observant, she would be stupid to be unaware of the rumors that floated around Hogwarts' walls.

"I love her," Malia didn't know what she was aiming for by admitting that to Blaise. Perhaps, she just wanted to put it out there, an undisputable fact. Maybe she wanted a sense of how Blaise felt about it. Either way, it was out there now, and she couldn't take it back.

The look Blaise gave her in return to her declaration wasn't one of surprise or judgment. If anything, it was the most reflective she had ever seen him. He gave her a lopsided smile and reached over to squeeze one of her hands.

"I kind of figured," he shrugged. "There  _had_  to be a reason why you'd always look so lovestruck every time Hufflepuff won a quidditch match. Obviously, it wasn't your overwhelming house unity."

At this, Malia snorted. Leave it to Blaise to make something as complex as her not being wholly devoted to the pureblooded man she was supposed to marry about  _quidditch_  of all things. Still, she appreciated his effort to normalize the situation.

"Enough about me," she didn't want the conversation to become  _too_  sentimental. There was a strong chance that she would start crying, and she didn't want to risk other Slytherins realizing that she wasn't the ice queen she made herself out to be. "Tell me your story about  _defense_."

"You're the one who taught me the avoidance tactic, so don't think I don't know what you're trying to do," Blaise smirked before his face softened into a smile. "But you know I love you, right? No matter what."

At the risk of grinning stupidly, Malia waved her hands in mock annoyance.

"Yes, yes. I know," she murmured haughtily. "Our family is one built on love and trust."

Blaise snorted, leaning back on the arm he had leaning against the chair to look at her properly.

"I'm up to step-father number 5 and Aunt Eliana is a  _nightmare_ ," Blaise groaned, "and you mean to tell me that our family is so loving and –"

"Your  _story_ , Blaise, or I'm leaving," Malia made to get up before her cousin pulled her back down.

Blaise leveled her with a long look, one that promised a deeper conversation than the one they just had, but let the matter drop nonetheless. She couldn't help a small smile at the thought of how accepting her cousin had been, about  _everything_.

Maybe she'd buy him a broom for his next birthday.

"Right," Blaise clapped his hands in preparation for what was sure to be a very dramatic reenactment of what occurred in his class, "so I was there minding my own business, being the model student that I am, and I swear I see Azula Ryland's eyes turn  _red_. And then she just –"

The color in question set alarm bells off in Malia's head. Though she and her younger Slytherin comrades hadn't been having any success with the petrification ordeal, she  _had_  been reading up on possession, just in case it proved relevant. A lot of the things she'd found seemed essentially useless but if she was remembering correctly, a change in eye color was one of the surest signs of some form of possession.

Careful not to alert Blaise to her wandering thoughts, she nodded ever so often to give the guise of being an attentive listener, making a mental note of who she needed to question later.

* * *

Astoria Greengrass had always been fascinated by pretty colored eyes. Gray eyes. Blue eyes. Brown eyes. Golden eyes. Hazel eyes. All sorts of shades fascinated her. She always figured that there was some truth in the saying  _the eyes are the window to the soul_. No matter the eye color, she felt as if one's true intentions could almost always be belied by their eyes.

Unless they were red, of course. That was just demonic.

Which was exactly why she couldn't make proper sense of why Malia had stormed into the Slytherin common room – ushering out everyone who wasn't her, Draco, or Azula – before rounding on the Firinian princess, something to do with her having red eyes.

"When did you intend on telling me that you were possessed?" Malia demanded, arms crossed in a manner that made it difficult for Astoria to understand how the elder Slytherin wasn't simultaneously tapping her feet. It seemed like such an appropriate gesture to fit the arm crossing.

There was no doubt that the Slytherin prefect was directly addressing Azula, but one would never guess that with how nonchalant the girl in question was. She didn't even bat an eyelash, nor did she remove her gaze from the book she was calmly reading on the couch. Astoria could just barely make out the spine of the book –  _Military Strategies and Plots: The Fire Nation's Success Story_. She couldn't refrain from scoffing at how characteristically  _Azula_  it was for the Firinian girl to be reading something pertaining to the accomplishments of her homeland.

"I am  _partially_  possessed," Azula corrected her smartly, and the corners of Astoria's lips twitched in amusement at her friend's intentional sass. "What good is that bit of information to you? Does it help your girlfriend, or any of the other muggleborns for that matter?  _No_. all it does is make me look weak by comparison, and I won't stand for it."

Malia's nostrils flared and she pinched the bridge of her nose in what could only be described as annoyance. She murmured something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like Italian curses, and Astoria prided herself on her childhood Italian lessons helping her understand what was being said.

"Listen, I didn't come here to argue with you," Malia said, and the effort it was taking to keep her voice even was made obvious by the consistent frown on her face. "Just give me the journal and I'll figure out how to get rid of it.  _Then_ , we can figure out what to do about the matter of your possession."

The silence that ensued wasn't awkward per se, but it unnerved the Slytherin prefect to the point that she just had to break it.

" _What_?"

"Well," Usually Astoria loved being the bearer of bad news, but she wasn't sure if this was one of those times, "the journal is actually kind of –"

"Gone," Draco cut her off abruptly, and she leveled him with a glare. He could be so rude sometimes (well, most times, but that wasn't the point). "You were taking too long.  _Don't give me that look_." When Astoria's glare didn't waver, Draco continued, "Azula had the brilliant idea of abandoning the journal in the girl's bathroom."

The subsequent widening of Malia's eyes could almost be described as comical, but Astoria had enough respect for the situation not to laugh. Still, she couldn't suppress the grin that appeared on her face, so she settled for leaning into Draco's side, burying her face in his shoulder to prevent her amused expression from being noticed. She did so in vain, as the Slytherin prefect stared stonily at her before returning her gaze to Azula.

"Why would you even – no, don't tell me why," Malia shook her head irately. "Just tell me which bathroom."

"So you can do what? Try to find it?" Azula scoffed, rolling her eyes. "That thing is really better off –"

"The one on the second floor," Astoria supplied helpfully, shrugging casually at the glare Azula gave her in return. She didn't care much for the back and forth that was sure to ensue between the two hot-headed Slytherins if the elder didn't get the answer she was looking for. "You know? Myrtle's – hey, where are you going?"

Astoria hadn't even been able to finish her statement before Malia disappeared from the Slytherin common room without a word, robes billowing behind her.


End file.
